Brotherhood of the Enemy
by joshua.burniece
Summary: With the Dark Master defeated, Spyro and Cynder sparked five years of peace following the rebuilding of the world. However, a new threat arises from a foreign race of creature known as “human.” Calling themselves the “Pillari,” Spyro is forced into survival with one of his sworn human enemies. Can they find a way to put aside their hatred and bring forth a new age of peace?
1. One

**Hello, everyone! Welcome to "Brotherhood of the Enemy," a Legend of Spyro FanFiction. I have been working on this story for roughly ten months and I have decided to finally begin posting it. Before I begin anything, I would like to throw out a huge thanks to Superdale33 for editing the first few chapters. He certainly helped give it a much stronger foundation. **

**Now, let's get to it! If you enjoy my story, please FAVORITE and FOLLOW to let me know.**

**Thank you!**

* * *

Spyro woke up, his muscles aching from the night before. He breathed a deep sigh before looking down at Cynder, who was sound asleep next to him, almost as if the attack on Clawreaver had never happened. He couldn't help but smile watching her rest so peaceful, feeling as if he could almost hear the steady beating of her heart. He nuzzled her softly and kissed her on the cheek. She stirred slightly, a faint smile creeping across her lips, and hummed softly before falling right back to sleep. Seeing that she had no intention of waking up anytime soon, Spyro rose from their bed, hearing subtle cracks in his body as he did so. His body felt heavy, like his limbs were made of lead, and all he wanted to do was fall back into bed and rest his sore body for a few more hours.

Looking around the room, he was happy to be back home, safe within the heavily guarded walls of Warfang. After doing a few stretches with some faint popping noises, he made his way to their window to look out at the sunrise, one of his favorite things to do. He knew in his heart that he hadn't actually _recreated_ the world, but he couldn't help but feel that he and Cynder were the reasons the sun still rose every morning.

The birds chirped softly as they flew through the streets of Warfang. He saw a few dragons here and there wandering through the streets, happily greeting one another as they passed. The five years following the Dark Master's attack on Warfang had been devoted to returning the city to its former glory. Due to the moles' expertise in construction, the citizens of Warfang had managed to rebuild every crumbled building, every street, and even refortify the massive walls that had been ripped apart by the heavy machines of the Dark Master's army.

Spyro didn't dwell on Malefor much, feeling at peace with the fact that he was gone, though he could never fully erase the memory of his chilling voice attempting to corrupt him. _Your destiny is to destroy the_ _world_, he had told him. Looking out his window every morning, seeing what he and Cynder had accomplished together, gave him power over Malefor's lies. The malevolent purple dragon had always been wrong about their kind. A purple dragon had _saved_ the world, completely opposite to everything that Malefor had stood for.

Which made it harder to step out into the city. It shouldn't have been hard; he had gone out more times than he could count. His guts clenched at the thought. Leaving his home meant leaving Cynder, and after last night, the prospect had him rooted to the spot. He shook it off the best he could and forced himself to walk down the stairs and to the door. Warfang was safe for now. There was no need to worry just yet. His unease still clung to him, but it lessened when he opened the door to a blinding light.

He squinted a bit as his eyes adjusted, and when they did, he was welcomed to the quaint, well-built stone that made up Warfang. He breathed in the fresh air, smelling the scent of the flowers being carried by the wind from distant fields. The commoners conversed cheerfully amongst themselves. Even as Spyro strolled along, it was refreshing to engage the sense of peace throughout the city, to say the least. The bloodbath from the night before was still fresh in Spyro's mind, but it wasn't as intense as before, merely a dim reminder.

He took note of the sun, much more visible on the horizon, after getting lost in thought for so long. He filled his lungs with air as his muscles finally relaxed.

"Spyro! Buddy!"

A dragon near identical to him - from his size down to his tail - ran down the street. If it wasn't for his red scales and yellow wings, they could have been twins. It didn't stop folks from mistaking them for brothers for years.

"Hey, Flame," Spyro replied with a relieved smile. "How're you holding up after last night?"

Flame shook his head and exhaled. "That was one hell of a skirmish, am I right?" he laughed nervously.

"No kidding. How's Ember doing?"

Flame's demeanor changed slightly, looking off into the distance. Sorrow filled his eyes.

"She's okay. Nothing serious." He paused for a moment. "I hate seeing her in battle."

Spyro raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"I don't know, dude," Flame sighed. "I really love her, and I don't know what I'd do if she...got hurt, ya know?" Spyro nodded. Flame fiddled with his talons, keeping his eyes lowered. "Don't you ever worry about Cynder getting hurt?"

"Of course, I do," Spyro responded, placing a gentle paw on Flame's shoulder. Flame met his eyes. "But I also know how tough she is. It's very clear she can hold her own in a fight. Heck, she's saved my tail a few times…more than a few times actually." Spyro chuckled to himself. "Come to think of it, I think she's saved me far more than I've saved her."

"Yeah, but you gotta give yourself credit. _You're _the reason she broke her ties with Malefor. Without you, she'd still be the Terror of the Skies." Spyro smiled humbly in response, lightly punching Flame's shoulder. "Anyways, where you off to this fine morning?"

"The Guardians wanted to meet to discuss what our next move is after the Pillari's little surprise attack. I just wanted to get out for a bit beforehand."

Flame nodded, "Got it. Well, I'll see you soon, pal. I got this heart necklace for Ember. Thought I'd surprise her since she fought so hard last night."

Flame outstretched his claw to reveal the beautiful golden necklace with the pink heart pendant. Spyro smiled as he looked at the gift which twinkled in the morning sunlight.

"She's gonna love it, Flame. And no, she _dominated_ in battle yesterday." Spyro laughed, to which Flame chuckled in response. "I saw her take out at _least_ a dozen of them by herself." Flame looked down, clearly trying to hold back a proud smile. "Anyways, I think I'll go wake Cynder up. She'll wanna be there for the meeting at the temple."

"Cool, dude, I'll see you around," Flame said as he launched into the sky. Spyro watched Flame fly over the building and out of sight before heading back home.

* * *

Spyro paused at the door to admire the home that they had built together. Well, the moles had built it for them, but they had put in their share of input. It was a two story home with purple accents here and there, representing both Spyro and Cynder's scales. The door was quite elegant too, sturdy with a decorative carving of each of their four elements. A sign was bolted next to it.

"Spyro and Cynder," he read aloud, "who would've thought?"

He chuckled to himself. After one more glance at the elemental carvings on the door, he entered as quietly as he could and headed up the stairs to see that Cynder had already started getting out of bed. "Morning, Cynder. How did you sleep?"

"I slept well," she said with a smile, wincing, "but I kinda feel like I got thrown off a cliff."

She put weight on one of her forelegs and it nearly gave. Spyro rushed to her and wrapped his foreleg around her, easing her out of bed.

"Thank you," she said, resting her head against his. For a minute, they simply enjoyed each other's presence. It was a minute Spyro wished could last longer. He finally pulled away from her, frowning.

"I know you're tired," he said, "but the Guardians want to see us. We need to talk about the attack on Clawreaver."

Cynder hung her head and sighed.

"I know," she said, eyes never breaking away from the floor. "The Pillari have started attacking more…and the streets are getting bloodier."

"And it'll only get worse until we figure out a way to stop them," Spyro replied. His tone wavered, and he cleared his throat to hide it. Cynder picked up on it anyway.

"We stopped Malefor," she said, encouragingly, "we can stop them."

Spyro tried to smile, but bowed his head instead.

"What is it?" Cynder asked.

"This is all my fault" he said hastily, as though he had always wanted to say it. His eyes were misty and his heart was heavy. "I was able to put the world back together, but I couldn't stop another war from starting. How could I have let this happen?"

Cynder put a wing around Spyro, pressing up against him. Her warmth comforted him.

"Do you remember what I said the first time you asked that question?" she asked. Spyro didn't respond, didn't even raise his head. "I told you that you shouldn't blame yourself, and it's no different now. Someone will always be around to wreak havoc on the innocent, there's no stopping that. But that's why we are here, to stop those that terrorize our world. And Spyro, don't ever forget that _you're_ the reason we're all still here."

After a moment of silence, Spyro took a shaky breath as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Looking up at Cynder, a faint smile came across his face as he leaned into her. Cynder held him tightly, and after a moment, they released from their embrace.

"Come on," she said, nudging her head to the side.

As they headed out into Warfang side by side, Cynder decided to start some small talk.

"Did you go out again this morning?"

"Yeah, I did," Spyro nodded. "I love it here. I'm glad we decided to officially move into Warfang after we took out Malefor."

"And saved the world," she joked. Spyro laughed in response.

"It's nice to see smiling faces again," he said, though his expression tensed once more.

"What is it?" she asked. Spyro hesitated before answering.

"I just worry, you know, losing everything we worked so hard to rebuild." Spyro stopped walking, his thoughts a mess. Cynder stepped in front of him, and he stared at her, fearing for her life, for his life, for everyone's. "Cynder, if they manage to take down this city-"

"They won't," she interrupted, trying her best to comfort him, though sounding a bit unsure herself. She had a confident grin, puffing out her chest. "They don't stand a chance against the World Builder."

"A new nickname?" Spyro groaned. "Who came up with that one?"

"Flame."

"Figures," he said as he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Cynder nudged him playfully, which he gladly reciprocated.

Silence filled the rest of their walk to the temple, navigating the narrow and winding streets of Warfang. More and more civilians emerged as the sun rose higher into the sky, and occasionally a few would greet them.

Truthfully, Warfang was the perfect city to live in. Everyone got along well, primarily due to the fact that during the reign of Malefor, everyone had worked together to protect their homes and fight off the Dark Master's forces. Warfang had basically become one big happy family. This, however, made it even harder on Spyro. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if their beloved city fell. It was tough being the "World Builder," as Flame had coined him. While he always appreciated the world-saving compliments, it also overwhelmed him. The attention sometimes became too much to handle as he was basically treated like a celebrity. Cynder, however, loved the positive attention as it often reassured her that she was not defined by her destructive past.

It brought to mind one of the most beautiful moments he had ever witnessed during the first days after their grueling battle with Malefor. They had been going about their day as usual, wandering the city with no particular destination in mind, when an adorable blue hatchling with silver wings pointed to Cynder, brimming with admiration.

"Mommy! That's Cynder! Look, look! That's the dragon that helped save us!"

Cynder, with her overwhelming compassion, hurried over to the hatchling and brushed her snout against hers. The hatchling giggled and hugged her muzzle. The mother couldn't help but smile and thank Cynder for her bravery. Seeing Cynder being showered with gratitude had brought tears to Spyro's eyes. The Terror of the Skies, the Dark Master's Puppet, all of those names no longer held any merit over Cynder. She was just Cynder, the one and only.

Then he was back in the present, his eyes watering at the memory.

"Are you okay?" Cynder asked, concerned.

Spyro only smiled in response and gave her a kiss on the cheek, making her blush. She regained her composure and rested her head on his neck with a smile of her own. Spyro's heart sped up ever so slightly, the way it always did when he was with Cynder.

Not long after, they arrived in the courtyard overlooked by the temple. It was miraculous, even after coming and going so many times. Two noble dragon statues stared proudly out into the city, standing guard by the towering, double door entrance. Carved into the doors was the insignia of the Guardians: two dragons circling around a shimmering blue crystal. Spyro pushed through into the temple proper, admiring the massive pillars that reached all the way up to the ceiling, which was painted with a beautiful mural of ancient stories depicting the history of the dragons. The moles were truly remarkable in their artistic abilities. Off in the distance, Volteer and Cyril argued, which came as no surprise. As Spyro and Cynder approached, Terrador's annoyance was plainly seen, trying to get a word in edgewise. Their arguments overlapped, making anything they said an indecipherable mess of sentences. Spyro cleared his throat loudly. Volteer and Cyril stopped with mouths open, blinking, and looked over toward Spyro and Cynder. A gleaming smile broke over Volteer, while Cyril still appeared frustrated.

"Ah, our heroes have arrived!" Volteer said, waving them in. "Please, come join us. My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience our quarrel may have caused you." Cyril rolled his eyes, likely due to Volteer's relentless habit of utilizing the most superior words in his vocabulary.

"How are you two feeling?" Terrador asked as they joined the group.

"Not too bad, just a bit sore," Spyro replied. Cynder nodded her head in agreement.

"Flame and Ember?" Terrador asked.

"About the same," Spyro shrugged.

Terrador nodded, sighing through his nostrils. "As are we. I'm glad you are all okay, though I'm afraid this war is far from over."

"I'll say," Cyril piped up with a huff. "The Pillari are getting more aggressive, and if we don't stop them soon, we're going to lose Warfang."

"Nonsense, Cyril!" Volteer said. "You mustn't think like that. If we lose hope then who will our troops look to in the heat of battle?"

Terrador nodded, "Volteer is right, we can't lose hope. Though Cyril also raises a good point. We almost lost Clawreaver last night. That's the second surrounding city they've attacked in the past two weeks." He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath. "If they manage to capture even a single city, Warfang could be in danger of a full-scale siege."

"This is ridiculous!" Cyril stamped his paw, sending a small rumble through the tiles. "What are we waiting for?! I say we charge into Pillasia and blow it to smithereens! That'll send a message."

"No, it's too risky," Terrador said, raising his paw. Cyril simmered down, but kept up his glare. "We don't know what kind of advanced weaponry they've been hiding from us. If we try to attack their city without knowing what dangers await us, it will be a death sentence to everything we have sworn to protect. We _must_ think through this and avoid running blindly into battle."

"How many did we lose last night at the attack on Clawreaver?" Spyro asked.

"At least a hundred of theirs and a few dozen of the troops we brought with when we joined you," Terrador said, narrowing his eyes as though he could still see the battlefield. "They are holding a burial ceremony today."

"We should be there," Cynder said, eyes pleading. Spyro put his wing around her. It didn't do much to soothe her. "Why is this even happening? Malefor is gone, the grublins are gone, the apes are gone." She clenched her teeth, scratching at the floor. "Do we know where these idiots even came from?"

"According to my research," Volteer said, "the Pillari remained in hiding during the reign of Malefor. Cowards, the lot of them. But now since he's gone, they have taken over the abandoned Grublin City, which they renamed Pillasia, as you know, and seized their opportunity in threatening all that which we hold dear."

"What's their motivation?" Spyro asked.

"It is a mystery to me," he said. From his voice, he wished more than anything to have the answer. "From the looks of it, their only goal is to see the world burn."

That snapped something in Spyro. Something he had pushed down so many times. His lungs burned with a different kind of fire, and he growled.

"I don't understand it!" Spyro screamed. "Cynder and I _saved _the world. Why would they try to destroy it all over again? Why can't they realize we brought peace? Five _years _of peace. The war was over! Why did they have to go and start a new one?!"

Everyone save Terrador jumped at his outburst. Even as Spyro gasped for air, his head still raged with anger. He had the urge to fly off and face the Pillari himself. Volteer and Cyril looked to one another concerned, and Cynder shied away. It was Terrador that stepped forward, expression hard and unreadable.

"Easy, Spyro," he said. "We're just as outraged as you are. But we can't lose our heads. We have to stay focused, that's the only way we will pull through this."

Spyro took a deep breath. Terrador was right. He had to stay cool.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"After the ceremony, we will meet in private with Archdragon Erdamir to discuss the next course of action. We are flying over there now if you would like to accompany us."

Spyro straightened at the mention of a private meeting with the Archdragon, puffing out his chest ever so slightly. Erdamir, one of the most highly-revered dragons in all of Avalar, now the Archdragon of Clawreaver.

"We wouldn't miss it," Cynder said. Spyro nodded curtly.

"Let's hit the skies then," Terrador said as he passed Spyro and Cynder toward the massive double doors. The other guardians followed closely behind. Spyro walked after them, but Cynder didn't join his side. She was rooted to the spot, wings low to the floor, wistful.

Spyro stepped back to her, "You okay, Cynder?"

"I'm just…" she heaved a heavy sigh, clenching her eyes shut, "sick of war…sick of death."

"I know," Spyro rested his forehead on hers. "I am too."

She looked into his violet eyes and smiled. His gaze was soothing, calming her headache.

"Come on," he said, wrapping his wing around her. "We should catch up with the others."

Cynder nodded her head as they walked out of the temple together. Cyril hovered in the sky, wings blowing gusts across the courtyard.

"Come on, you two," he said as delicately as he could. "We mustn't dilly dally."

With that, he beat his wings and flew after the other two Guardians. Spyro and Cynder spread their own wings, bracing their legs for take off.

"Wait up, guys!" Sparx hurled himself at the two, out of breath and barely able to keep himself in the air. Flame and Ember weren't far behind, gliding down to them. "I went to your house and you weren't there. Then I ran into these two and they said you were at the temple. Where you guys going now?"

"We were about to fly back to Clawreaver to attend the ceremony," Spyro replied. "Do you wanna join us?"

"Of course," Ember said, earnest and sincere. "After last night, it's only appropriate for us to be there."

Spyro nodded gratefully, eyes fixated on the heart necklace Flame had gotten her. He smirked at Flame, staying as subtle as possible, and Flame smiled warmly.

Spyro spread his wings, signaling for the others to take his lead. "Let's get going then." In one swift motion, they launched themselves into the sky and headed for Clawreaver, eventually catching up with the other Guardians. Cyril was the first to notice the others who had joined them, to which he nodded to Spyro in approval. As they flew, Spyro looked back to Sparx fondly.

Sparx, his true brother. Jeez, had he changed. The last thing Spyro remembered Sparx saying to him and Cynder before they crossed the Belt of Fire was, _Cynder, you have to promise me you will look after him. We…we've been through a lot together. _

It was one of the rare moments Sparx got emotional, and thankfully for him, Cynder had kept her promise. When they returned to Warfang after they had defeated Malefor, Sparx was the first face they saw.

When Spyro and Sparx had made eye contact after the restoration of the world, Sparx had done something completely out of the ordinary. He cried. He actually cried. He had hugged Spyro tighter than he ever had before.

"Welcome back, brother, I missed you," he said through tearful eyes.

Something shifted that day for Sparx. The days of calling Spyro fat and distrusting Cynder were long gone. He had even given Cynder a tearful hug that day.

"Thank you, Cynder," he cried. Cynder looked to Spyro with complete shock, who only grinned in return. Surprised at Sparx's sudden shift in attitude towards her, she couldn't help but smile.

"You're welcome, Sparx," she replied.

After their return to Warfang, Spyro had never felt closer to his brother. It felt like they were kids again, playing silly little games among the dragonflies. He looked back to Sparx, who gave him a playful wink.

* * *

The silhouette of Clawreaver in the distance came into view, the beauty of the majestic city overtaking them. In the heat of the raid, no one had made much notice of its elegant architecture, especially since the attack had taken place at night. But the broad daylight shining down highlighted every glorious feature Clawreaver had to offer. Massive walls surrounded the luxurious architecture, broken up with cobblestone roads. In the center of the city, a colossal fountain stood with constantly flowing beams of water and, at its center, a mystical bronze dragon.

Despite all of its glory, it was evident that the town had been attacked last night. The Clawreaver engineers, moles as prestigious as those found in Warfang, were already repairing the gaping hole in the defensive perimeter, where the Pillari had broken through. Several buildings throughout the city were blackened and destroyed from the fire bombs the Pillari had lobbed. Spyro also spotted several dragons scrubbing the streets to try to remove as much of the blood as possible.

Just outside of Clawreaver, most of the civilians had gathered around rows upon rows of gently laid corpses. Spyro wrinkled his nose as the putrid smell of lifeless bodies filled the air with a nauseating aroma. Terrador motioned for the others to land near the assembly. A few eyes drifted in their direction as they touched down, though the majority didn't bother. They were as still as the bodies. It tugged at Spyro, so much so he barely caught a dragon stride over to them. He was like a giant pine tree: sturdy, fierce, green as a thicket, but his wings and underbelly lightened his gruff exterior. Yellow as the sun shining through the branches.

His eyes peered down his snout, picking out the group. They lingered on Spyro and Cynder for a time before flicking back to Terrador.

"Morning, everyone," he said, his voice as rough as his scales. "Thank you for being here."

Terrador walked up to him and bowed his head deeply in respect, "Hello, Archdragon Erdamir, it's good to see you again."

"Please," he motioned with his paw, mustering a faint smile, "just Erdamir will do." Erdamir laid his paw on Terrador's shoulder. "It's good to see you too, my brother."

Terrador nodded once then swept over the grim atmosphere and the massive crater in the wall. "How is everyone holding up?" he asked, softer than before.

"It was an unexpected attack," Erdamir sighed, and all of his bravado deflated, "but we managed to hold them off, thanks to all of you." Ember perked her chin up proudly, Cynder nodded, almost too faintly to notice.

Volteer took to Terrador's side, "As soon as we got the message from the falcon, we hurried over as quickly as we could. If only we had been here sooner."

His voice was full of defeat, hanging his head. Erdamir rested a paw on his shoulder, raising his own chin a tad. Spyro wasn't sure if it was to swallow down his sorrow or stay strong for them.

"it is no one's fault except my own," he said. "I assumed they would take more time to replenish their strength after their failed attack on Scalemar two weeks ago. Luckily, it was only a small battalion, and we have learned from our mistakes. We have doubled our defensive troops in response to last night's attack."

Cyril looked out at the many rows of the deceased. Several were adorned in armor plating and gauntlets, while the rest were barren. Both civilians and soldiers of Clawreaver and Warfang had perished last night.

"What did you do with the bodies of our enemies?" he asked with a small hint of bitterness.

"We believe everyone deserves a proper burial," Erdamir said, "so we had our Earth dragons create a mass grave for them off in the distance, though we did not hold a ceremony for them.

Cyril bristled, a growl slipping out before he clamped his mouth shut to stop it.

"I respect that," he said, stilted and full of contempt, "though I don't agree with it. Those murderers don't deserve a proper burial."

Erdamir nodded his head, "Perhaps not, but it is the image of respect that we strive to uphold."

Cyril twitched but didn't argue further. His eyes were heavy, wary, and he pulled them to the front of the crowd. Spyro followed his gaze, more to occupy himself than anything. There, a white dragon stood with golden wings, shimmering in the sunlight like a beacon over the dreary. The Clawreaver Elder, as Spyro recognized him, spoke with clarity and grace, yet each word held weight. It was background noise to Spyro. He should have listened, picked, and taken in everything to heart, but the bodies drew a blank in his mind. A suppressed sob tore him away to Cynder. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she did nothing to hide them. He draped a wing around her to try and comfort her, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

"Why is this happening again?" she whispered through her tears.

Spyro sighed, "I don't know, but we are going to stop it…somehow."

The Elder dragon went on, and Spyro only cared more for the dragoness pressed up against him.

The eulogy came to a close. The Elder dragon merged with the gathering as several fire dragons took their places at the head of each row of victims The Elder dragon declared a minute of silence, though it was unneeded. No one uttered a word, and sobs and cries were all that was heard. Erdamir signaled to the dragons to light the fires. Flames brimmed in the dragons' muzzles before breathing it in unison onto each group of deceased, just enough to start a slow burn. The image of everyone's loved ones gradually burning to ash was too much for many of the bystanders as the magnitude of sobs intensified, filling the air with a somber song. Flame and Ember cried together, resting their heads against one another. Sparx didn't cry as he hadn't been at the battlefield the previous night, though he bowed his head in respect. The Guardians and Erdamir stared out at the burning bodies, their eyes never wavering even for a second.

The grief was almost too much for Spyro. His breathing was shaky, and it was difficult to swallow. He clenched his paws tightly, digging his claws into the mournful soil. His lips curled into a subdued sneer as he dwelled on Malefor's death. Such things as the anguish from last night's attack should have faded away following the fall of Malefor, but death and torment had returned to Avalar.

_I have to stop this_, he thought. _Once and for all._

* * *

**Thank YOU for checking out my story! I would love to read your thoughts and reactions down in the comments. Any and all criticism is appreciated as I want this story to be as good as possible. So, if you don't like the story, make it constructive. Give me pointers on how it can be improved. **

**Thanks, all!**

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	2. Two

**Behold, chapter two of "Brotherhood of the Enemy." Thank you, all, for checking out my story! **

**If you enjoyed this, remember to smash that FOLLOW and FAVORITE button to keep updated when a new chapter is posted.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Erdamir's quarters were far more spacious than Spyro thought. A circular room that accommodated him and the other dragons from Warfang - Sparx included - was no small feat. The walls were adorned with a plethora of medals, most awarded for his courage in battle. Spyro traced around the achievements. The last battle proved to him they were all well earned. A fire bomb would have cooked him if not for Erdamir shielding him with his wing. One of the few instances that stuck out to Spyro at Clawreaver. The entire incident was mostly a blur of fire and fighting.

Sparx passed by the collection and squinted at a few of them like a curator for a museum.

"Sheesh, fight a few battles in your lifetime?" he asked.

Flame and Ember glared at him. The others gathered around a table at the center. It wasn't as elaborate or fancy as Spyro had thought for an Archdragon. He stepped over as Erdamir rounded the table and settled on the other side, tail nestled underneath the wooden legs. His eyes brushed over maps, letters, and other documents that overlapped each other. It was a mess of papers.

"Indeed," Erdamir nodded to Sparx, who hovered closer, "and I'm afraid there will be many more to come."

That got Sparx to shy away, driving his gaze to the stone floor.

"Two attacks in the last two weeks," Terrador said, gesturing to a map sprawling across the table. "They're becoming more confident, more diligent. Another strike is inevitable. How many attacked Scalemar and Clawreaver?"

Erdamir shifted a paper aside to reference the manuscript, "According to my officers' calculations, Scalemar was attacked by roughly six hundred fifty troops, Clawreaver by about five hundred."

"Why would they attack in such low numbers?" Flame asked lifting his head to get a better view of the numbers, raising a brow. "If they wanted to take over the neighboring cities so badly, why wouldn't they initiate a full-fledged attack?"

"Maybe they weren't trying to take them over?" Ember replied, wincing as though she wasn't even sure of that.

Flame growled, glancing to the side, "What's the point of the attack then?"

"That's what I wanted to meet with you all about," Erdamir said. His tone was heavy, strained. There was no focus to him, delving into his own head before shaking himself out of it. "While many of the buildings were burned to the ground, there was one kind of building in both Clawreaver and Scalemar that was more or less preserved."

"And what building would that be?" Cyril asked, leaning in.

Erdamir swept his gaze, meeting eye to eye with everyone, until they landed on Spyro. It was more intense than last time, narrowing ever so slightly, before breaking off to face the group.

"The crystal depot. One of Clawreaver's was ransacked last night, and I've received similar reports from Scalemar."

There was an uncomfortable silence. No words, no movement, not even the beat of Sparx's wings. Spyro swallowed. If there was one thing he was glad to find in abundance on his journeys, it was crystals. To have them raided caused a cloud of worry to hang over him. He was sure the others were the same, except for Erdamir. He was simply grim.

"They've been stealing our crystals?!" Cyril yelled, the words echoing.

Erdamir nodded slowly, "I'm afraid so."

"How many did they take?" Spyro asked. He almost didn't want to raise the question, his insides tightening at how bad the answer might turn out.

"Not enough to do any considerable damage to us," Erdamir said, heaving a sigh, "but enough for us to notice. It would explain why they attacked in such small numbers. Easier for them to get in and out of the city quickly without suffering any major losses. It appears the small force is a distraction tactic for a few of them to sneak to the crystal depots and grab all they can. The guards posted outside the depots in both Scalemar and Clawreaver were found dead."

"I'm sorry, but were _hatchlings_ guarding the doors?" Cyril snarled. Spyro almost expected him to let out a laugh as though it was a joke.

Volteer huffed, sparing a sideways glance to Cyril. He could literally snap at him. Instead, he spoke with a level voice, "Do not underestimate our human enemies, Cyril. You know they are surprisingly good fighters."

"Yeah," Flame grunted, baring his teeth, "and we're _dragons_. We shouldn't be having such a problem ripping them to shreds."

"Perhaps your troops are not fit for battle, _Archdragon_," Cyril said with a sarcastic tone.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Erdamir snarled. His wise, marred expression melted to a monster. Leaf-green energy slipped from between his teeth, snout lowered for battle, even his wings flared. He wasn't just defensive, he was ready to tear Cyril to pieces.

Cynder scampered in front of the two towering dragons, spreading her wings to maintain the distance between them. It was more than what Spyro did. He was still in shock that Cyril would say something so harsh, let alone fear that Erdamir would sink his claws into one of them.

"Knock it off, you two!" Cynder shouted. Cyril dwarfed her, and Erdamir was a mountain of scales and muscle. Yet her tone carried authority, glaring up at them. "We don't have time to argue amongst ourselves!"

Neither of them backed down, settling for a staring match that was one breath away from turning bloody.

"Cynder is right," Terrador said gruffly. It was enough to finally have Erdamir relax his posture, and allow Spyro to release the breath he was holding. "We need to stay focused on what's important here, which means no insults!" He eyed Cyril, who withdrew his head to dampen his growl. "Our crystals are being stolen. Without them, we can't heal our troops. And we have no idea what the Pillari could be using them for."

"What if we sent some spies into Pillasia?" Volteer threw out with an idle shrug. "Maybe they could relay some useful information to us?"

"I agree we need more information," Terrador said, humming to himself, "but again, it's too risky for us to go into unknown territory. There's no telling what would become of our spies if they were taken prisoner."

Spyro mulled on that notion more than the others. They carried the conversation to different suggestions, all of which were shot down due to flaws in the process. The minutes waned, and a spark cracked through Spyro, not unlike his electrical element.

"Okay..." he said slowly. Ember abruptly halted in her idea, and all eyes turned to him. Spyro was too entrapped in his thoughts to notice. "So we can't send our troops into their city. That's fair, no one has ever been there. But...what if we took one of them into ours?"

Terrador tilted his head, "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Spyro hesitated, heart pounding and steeling himself. "What if we were to capture one of the Pillari? We could get them to talk and divulge whatever we need."

It sounded far better aloud than in his head. The idea had merit, and nods from the others proved it.

"That's not a bad idea, Spyro," Erdamir said with a smile, begrudgingly. "Not a bad idea at all."

Cyril bristled, breathing out a flurry of snowflakes, "Not a bad idea indeed, except for one thing: How do we know this murderer would tell the truth? For all we know, he could be telling us lies just to keep his sorry hide alive."

His comment trampled on the idea, one Spyro had confidence in. His first reaction was to retort with a reason, stay defensive. It took a lot of effort to swallow that down. He puffed out his chest.

"What other choice do we have?" he said. "The more crystals they steal, the more potentially dangerous they become. If we don't do something soon, our armies are going to start to weaken, leaving us vulnerable to a full-scale siege that could easily lose us the war. We _need _information, and this might be the only way. It's at least worth a shot."

Cynder shifted her weight uncomfortably, "I hate to bring this up, but I did used to work for Malefor...so let's just say I know how to handle an interrogation."

"No offense, young one," Cyril said, holding up a paw, "but the interrogation should be performed by an older, more _experienced _dragon."

"Like you?" Cynder asked. It was cold, distant, and enough for Cyril to back off. He muttered to himself, though Spyro focused more on Cynder. He didn't like the prospect of using what she learned from Malefor, of all dragons, to help them.

Volteer cleared his throat, idly scratching his neck with a claw, "As much as I am disheartened by Cynder's unfortunate past, I believe her experience with the darkness could prove useful in reeling out the information we so desire."

It was the opportune time for Spyro to voice his concern, but his heart couldn't go through with it. He had confidence in Cynder. The others must have felt the same, as no one spoke a word. It bothered Spyro that they didn't look at her though. Erdamir shifted his jaw, as though chewing, eyes darting around the room.

"Brother," Terrador said, far more quietly than Spyro expected from him. Erdamir rested his gaze on him. "I know it's risky, but if Cynder could truly perform a successful interrogation, the information we obtain could turn the war in our favor. It's your call."

Erdamir didn't make a sound. It was eerie, the way he studied Cynder for a crack in her resolve. She stood firm, and Spyro instinctively drifted closer to her. It didn't go unnoticed by Erdamir, but he didn't call it out. Instead, he straightened and snorted a fume of emerald energy.

"We will capture a Pillarian for questioning."

Spyro caught everyone's expressions. Cyril bowed his head, brow furrowed hard. Terrador and Volteer stood unwavering; there wasn't a lot to glean from them. Flame and Ember glanced at one another, and it was what Spyro took note of the most. The idea was not favorable. Cynder bumped against him and got him to look at her. Her smile eased some of the tension.

"Alright then," Terrador said. There was resignation in his tone, nodding sagely. "Now, how are we going to go about capturing one?"

"Well," Ember said, "they have to go out hunting for food at some point. Maybe we could attack one of their hunting parties?"

"Excellent idea, Ember," Erdamir said, beaming. Flame smiled proudly, and Spyro had to catch himself from chuckling. "We'll need to determine where and when their hunting parties go out during the day." He brushed aside more papers until he slid out a smaller map. One section was circled in red, and Erdamir tapped it. "Spyro, Cynder, I'd like for you to fly to the Cheetah Village and see if they would be willing to send out a small group of scouts to determine the Pillari's hunting schedule."

"We'll leave right away," Cynder replied.

"We wish you luck," Erdamir said with a bow of his head. Spyro and Cynder nodded back and headed for the door. Sparx uttered a goodbye, and Spyro barely caught it. He glanced back at him to find him nestled in the back, nearly invisible. Spyro winked at him before passing through the doorway.

Outside, they took in the city again, from the damaged walls and beaten streets to the somber faces of a handful of dragons. Dragons still forced a mop to the dried blood on the cobblestones. The air was still contaminated, dry and tainted. The sky was shrouded in a billowing gray smoke, floating away from the burned deceased beyond their sight. It was enough to nearly taste it. Spyro swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Cynder stared listlessly at nothing in particular. Spyro wondered if she shared the same thought as him. To find such tragedy compared to Warfang was jarring, like stepping into another world.

Spyro sighed, faintly smelling the smoke, before pushing off into the sky. Cynder did the same with only a second of hesitation. Their wings silently brought them over the devastation, and Spyro refused to spare another glance. He was dead set on the horizon.

* * *

"You think Prowlus will help us out with this?"

Spyro tilted his head to Cynder. They had flown for hours. The land below had shifted and morphed from hilly grasslands to scattered forests and plains. Avalar was as luscious as it ever was, and the Cheetah Village wasn't far off now, which meant speaking to Prowlus again. Spyro exhaled.

"He can certainly be stubborn," he said, flapping his wings a little harder, "but we've come to the Cheetah's aid on more than one occasion throughout the years. It only makes sense for them to return the favor. I wouldn't put it past him to refuse though."

"Hunter'll help us anyway," Cynder laughed. "So typical of him to play the hero."

She had a knowing look on her that Spyro saw right through. He pursed his lips, but eventually gave in and chuckled. It was like a breath of fresh air.

"He's always done what he thinks is right," Spyro said pointedly. Cynder rolled her eyes, her smile widening. "Besides, it won't come to that. Prowlus will come around. You'll see."

"Maybe after a few subtle insults," Cynder said slyly, brushing past Spyro to fly ahead.

The flight was a good reminder for why Spyro enjoyed these moments. They were peaceful, an escape from the bloodshed and death. To fly leagues above the world, together. Cynder tilted her head to the trees below with a smirk. Spyro followed her gaze for trouble, legs tensing, ready to spring into action. Instead, Cynder descended into his line of sight with that playful energy he hadn't seen in ages.

She did a corkscrew before swooping down into the trees. The branches and trunks barely hindered her, effortlessly gliding in between them.

Giddiness overwhelmed Spyro. He folded his wings and plummeted after her, stopping above the tops. His paws graced the leaves, ruffling them and eliciting a giggle from Cynder.

A wall of rock took up the side. A sheer cliffside that Cynder ran along before pushing off and twisting her shoulders into an elegant spin. The foliage almost seemed to bend away to allow her to pass them, emerging from the trees. Leaves spilled out from the wind.

_Geez, she's a twister, isn't she?_ Spyro thought.

Pounding his wings, he ascended to the top of the cliff. His paws dug into the dirt until he ran along the edge, legs already straining to keep his speed.

One solid push away from the cliff rocketed Spyro ahead of Cynder. He dipped down into a rapid forward spin, earth formed around him until he was a boulder plunging back towards the forest. Faster and faster, he headed for the ground. It broke past tree limbs and brush, the rocky undergrowth ready to meet him.

Then the boulder burst, and Spyro zoomed through the air. The wind was loud and rammed into his face. By the time he slowed to a halt, his wings catching him before he fell, he was amongst the clouds. His lungs burned, his legs and wings were sore, and he felt light headed, but a brimming smile refused to leave him.

He eased himself back below the clouds to Cynder. She hovered at the edge of the forest, mouth agape before slamming it shut and turning away with eyes half-lidded.

"I could do that," she said. He looped around her to look her in the eyes before nuzzling her neck.

"Oh yeah?" he said, gently shoving her before flying off.

There was a stifled giggle as she caught up with him, staying by his side, but Spyro was still relishing their little competition. The days when he learned to soar felt like a lifetime ago, but times like that brought him back to those innocent days. The days of discovery and adventure.

The reason for that adventure darkened his thoughts. There was little room for levity, even back then. It was as though the world had reminded him that it was temporary.

"There it is," Cynder said, hushed. Spyro broke away to see a broad plain surrounded by cliffs and high hills. And across the Bletta River was the Cheetah Village. Whether Cynder intended to tear Spyro away from his episode or merely wanted to point it out, he let it rest regardless.

The stake wall had extended along the river banks, and the surrounding brush had been hacked down. Stumps littered the area between the wooden walls and the tree line. Thatched straw roofs peaked over the sharpened wall.

A knot formed in Spyro. The village was the same as ever, but what little had changed was more for survival than for thriving. A course that Spyro had hoped would have changed. They descended to the gate, and Spyro eyed the cheetah that rose from his post.

"Spyro! Cynder too!" Kerja called, leaning on his spear. His fur reflected the sun, giving his coat a white glean to it. His tunic was stark brown, still lacking any wear and tear from battle. "You two might as well bring a gift from how little you visit."

"I think our appearance is gift enough," Cynder said cheekily. She landed with her wings spread out more than necessary, putting one paw in front of the other. Spyro merely landed into a gait, stopping close by to Kerja. There wasn't a scratch on him, and Spyro wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

"Don't listen to her," Spyro said, nudging his head to Cynder. She scoffed, bounding up to him with a playful smirk. Kerja waved it off with a smile as Spyro scratched at his neck. "It _has_ been a few weeks, huh? Did we miss anything?"

There was a brief frown from Kerja before it vanished behind another smile. Spyro wished he wasn't used to seeing expressions like it to notice.

"A skirmish here and there," Kerja shrugged. "My posts have me on the opposite side of the village to engage, so I don't have much to tell. From what I gather, it's nothing compared to what you all have been facing. My deepest condolences for your losses."

He set a fist to his chest as he bowed. It was stiff, reluctant, but there was no ill will. If anything, it was impatience. His hand tightened around his spear.

"Thank you, Kerja," Cynder said. Like Kerja, it was a mix of regret and frustration. Her eyes shifted away, only for a second, before focusing back on him. "It's actually why we're here. Is Chief Prowlus available?"

Kerja nodded, "I've been out here all day, and he hasn't passed through once. Probably still at his hut."

Kerja rested his spear against the wall and pushed against the gate with both hands. His feet dug into the dirt as the gate parted to reveal movement and noise.

"When you see him, tell him to switch me in for a patrol, would ya?"

"No promises," Cynder said with a smile. It didn't reach her eyes.

Passing through the gate, Spyro and Cynder were greeted to a bustle of activity. Cheetahs roamed the village, many with a spear or staff in hand. The familiar struts that formed the huts still stood firm, but had expanded and included beams to reinforce them. The knot in Spyro tightened.

Cynder had already moved further ahead, enthralled. Spyro headed to catch up, hearing music drift around the corner. Cheetahs greeted Spyro and Cynder as they passed. It brightened her mood, which in turn, brightened his. A group of little cheetahs moved as a unit, some straggling behind. One slid underneath Spyro. He froze as one other breezed past him with a hasty apology. Cynder giggled as another kid flipped over her. The group scampered out of sight.

"They're getting better," Spyro mused. Cynder grunted in agreement.

Three street performers played further back, one singing while the others played on wooden flutes. The small crowd gathered around them clapped and danced to their tune, laughing merrily. That, along with the engagement between a lot of the cheetahs, kept the place lively. It reminded Spyro of Warfang.

The hut with the prominent chimney at the top was their destination. Thick, black smoke billowed out before the wind snatched it and blew off. A guard stood rigid to the side. A nod from Spyro was enough for the guard to nod back and vanish within.

Cynder leaned in closer to Spyro, "You think Prowlus will-?"

A cheetah strolled out. His footsteps were quick and heavy. One of his pointed ears flicked, and he craned his neck while keeping his sharp eyes on them. The red cloak draped over his shoulders, along with the badge marked with a pawprint, wasn't needed for Spyro to recognize him.

"Prowlus," he said.

"Spyro, Cynder," he replied formally. It was too uptight for Spyro's liking. He crossed his arms. "What brings you to our village?"

"We were sent here on private business," Spyro said. "Could we speak with you inside your tent?"

Prowlus twitched and took a step back, "Very well. Follow me."

They did so with haste, entering the hut to find an open campfire burning at the center. The logs had been thoroughly burned, but the flames still flickered. It illuminated the cheetahs assembled around it. Meadow stood out immediately, easing a smile out, and Hunter sat beside him.

"It's good to see you alive and well," he greeted with a quick bow. Spyro and Cynder did the same, approaching the fire. None of the other cheetahs spoke to them. "What brings you here?"

Straight to the point and with little room to inquire why they were all gathered to begin with. Hunter did it on purpose, though Spyro didn't blame him. Prowlus walked along the side, hunched with hands held behind him.

"We need your help," Spyro said. Prowlus exhaled, either in exasperation or to suppress a chuckle. "You know about the recent attacks at Clawreaver and Scalemar."

"Yes, yes, attacks," Prowlus sneered. He stood at the head of the assembly, across from Spyro. The light of the flames cast a dreary shadow behind him. "Our scouts have seen as much."

"It isn't polite to interrupt a guest," Hunter said, his eyes narrowing. Prowlus turned away and plopped onto his pillow, deflating.

Spyro waited for another remark, and when none came, he continued, "The Pillari have stolen a great deal of our crystals, and we don't know why. Our plan is to gather more information by taking a prisoner, which is why we came to you."

"What is it you need from us?" Prowlus asked, indifferent. His attention was dead set on the fire, while the others gathered remained still. Hunter and Meadow glanced to each other.

Cynder growled. The way the conversation went, Spyro didn't see things going their way.

"Their hunting parties wander throughout Avalar," Spyro explained. "We don't know exactly when or where, but if you gather those details, we can ambush them and have our prisoner."

"For interrogation," Prowlus added.

It was an odd thing to point out. Spyro hesitated, eyes traveling across the hut. The cheetahs were statues, imposing and uncaring. Hunter leaned back a tad, raising a brow. Spyro had to ease a breath out.

"For interrogation," he said, nodding.

"Why not send a spy to their city?" a cheetah inquired. His head searched amongst the group.

"A dragon can't hide amongst them," Prowlus said with an idle wave. "Not to mention they're lousy at stealth."

"That wasn't underhanded," Cynder muttered, grinding her teeth.

Spyro coughed to cover her comment, "We also don't know anything about Pillasia."

"Stumbling through the unknown is never advisable," Prowlus said, bringing a hand to his chin. "So you intend for us to join in this war?"

"You sound like you've already made up your mind," Cynder sneered.

"Of course," Prowlus replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The Pillari clearly have their focus on the dragons, or perhaps more accurately, your crystals. If we enter, we're liable to an assault on our village. It was bad enough with Malefor."

Cynder stomped her paw, "All the more reason to help us. You know we wouldn't ask for help if we didn't need it."

"She's right," Meadow said. Prowlus twisted his face, but didn't lash out. "We have every right to trust the dragons. They did save the world, after all. _Our_ world."

Prowlus shook his head, "We are _still_ recovering from Malefor and his reign. Sparing our troops may seem trivial now, but it will escalate, and we don't want to be in the crossfires when it does. Not again."

History repeated itself. Spyro didn't think Prowlus could be even more stubborn. Turmoil swished around, washing up arguments before being swept back in. Cynder stepped to the side, leaving the other cheetahs to break out into whispers. Hunter wasn't fazed. He had an arrow, drawing in the dirt with the point. Through the dim light and his fur, Spyro was certain he had an expectant smile. Hunter lifted the arrow and held it out like an offering.

It clicked.

"So you're backing down?" Spyro asked. The whispers ceased, all eyes on him. "Cheetahs are experts in tracking, far better than dragons, but you choose not to utilize it?"

Prowlus scowled, "I already told you-"

"-that you wouldn't enter our war," Spyro finished, taking a step forward. Smoke wafted around his snout. "But we never mentioned that. We only need scouts for information. No attacks, no picking sides. And if your stealth is as good as your tracking, the Pillari will never know you were there."

The cheetahs looked to Prowlus, who furrowed his brow, wavering.

"I'll go out regardless," Hunter said, pushing himself to his feet. "Whatever you decide, Chief, I'll find a way."

"As will I," Meadow said, standing at his side. Hunter swelled with pride. "My debt has yet to be repaid."

Prowlus scratched his cheek with a claw. The pause lasted a few seconds, but time ticked away slowly for Spyro. Cynder sighed and moved to speak up. Spyro held up his paw, which got a groan out of her.

"Very well," Prowlus said, grimacing. Spyro thought he would take back those words. "Since Hunter and Meadow are so eager to volunteer, we can spare them for your request. They will find out what you need and nothing more."

A chorus of agreement swept through the other cheetahs. Hunter and Meadow bid their farewells and promises to remain anonymous before following Spyro and Cynder outside. The sunlight blinded Spyro before he blinked it away. They were back to the cozy, lively village. Chief Prowlus and his hut may as well have been another world.

"It was way too stuffy in there," Cynder said, heaving a heavy breath. She stretched her legs. "And I'm not talking about the smoke."

"Glad you caught on to his pride, Spyro," Hunter said. He had his bow out, adjusting the string.

"I'm glad you gave me a hint," Spyro said with a chuckle.

"Hint?" Cynder said, tilting her head. She hurried to Spyro and eyed Hunter up and down. "What hint?"

"One you missed," Hunter said, pulling out an arrow to point at her. Cynder pulled her head back, looking to Spyro for help. He smiled instead. "We should head out immediately. I'm sure the Guardians would prefer a swift response, yes?"

"Preferably," Cynder nodded.

Meadow nodded back, "We'll track them and send a falcon to Warfang as soon as we can."

"We really appreciate it," Spyro said. The two of them, together, eased the knot in Spyro. It was natural to put his faith in Hunter.

"You two are the only reason I still live," Meadow said. "I can only pray to the ancestors that I won't fail you."

"There is no one more capable of this than you two," Cynder said. She rested a paw on Meadow's arm. "We have no doubt in your abilities."

Meadow glowed, gripping his bow. Spyro had never seen him in action, but there was no doubt he could pull it off. Hunter motioned for Meadow to follow, and the two made their way to the gate. Their leave sparked action in Spyro, and he leapt forward.

"Hunter," he called. The two faced him. "It's good to see you again."

Realization dawned in Hunter's eyes, his mouth opening a little before he clamped it shut. That faint smile from Prowlus' hut returned, and he paced once before bowing.

"Stay safe, you two," he said before waving Meadow onward. They jogged through the crowds and out the gate.

The village was suddenly smaller. The walls didn't bring pleasant thoughts if Hunter and Meadow were caught. The Cheetah Village could never withstand the might of the Pillari. A part of Spyro wanted to think of a new plan, avoiding any pain to the village.

Cynder launched into the sky. It startled Spyro before he caught himself and did the same. The small village became even smaller. There was no way Hunter and Meadow would fail, but it gnawed at him all the same.

"I hope this village stays safe," Cynder said. Her gaze was heavy, staring off at the village. It reassured Spyro that he wasn't the only one lost in his worries, but swept them aside, facing forward.

"Me too," he admitted. Cynder turned her worried eyes to him. "Don't worry, Cynder. We have a plan."

Her frown deepened, and Spyro didn't know what to say to make it better. She shook it off, forcing a smile, but her expression was etched into his brain.

"Chief Prowlus was as happy as ever to see us," she said, lacing every word with sarcasm.

Spyro mulled on that, putting up a beaming smile.

"He's looking out for his people," Spyro rebutted. The luscious forest and river demanded his attention, and he welcomed the distraction. "He knows we're trouble."

"I guess," Cynder said, tilting her head back and forth. "But we proved our worth. It's a miracle we didn't spend the day chained to a pole again."

"The snake collars weren't all bad," Spyro said, flying further ahead. "It taught us to fight together."

Cynder smiled.

"_And_ I got to be with you every second of the day."

Cynder hid her muzzle with a paw. Spyro could still see the blush against her scales.

"You…" she said, swallowing. "You never got sick of me?"

"Only a little."

"Hey!" Cynder shouted through laughter. He gave a big toothy grin before she shoved him into an air roll. He returned to her side, bumping into her.

"You know I love you," he said. His tone was sincere, and his heart hammered against his chest.

"I know," she said, closing her eyes. Her bliss eased Spyro, reassuring him.

"And for the record," he said, catching her curious cyan gaze, "that snake collar _really _brought out your eyes."

She giggled playfully and gave him a small nudge, filling his heart with peace. Everything would work out as long as she was by his side.

* * *

**Thank you for all of your support! This story has been such a joy to write. I am eager to hear all of your feedback both positive and negative.**

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	3. Three

**Voilà! Chapter three is before us. WARNING: Adult language and graphic violence will ensue in this chapter. This story is rated M for that reason. **

**If you enjoy this story, please give it a FAVORITE and a FOLLOW to let me know if you want more.**

**And now, to the forest!**

* * *

"Why would they be hunting way out here?" Flame asked.

It was a question that gnawed at Spyro since setting out. Even as they flew over the Avalarian forest, it was nonsensical. The trees reached upward with wooden fingers, clutching thick blankets of leaves. They were dense and difficult to see through. Not a good environment to find prey, let alone hunt them. It did explain why the Guardians had sent him and the others.

"It does seem awfully far away from Pillasia," Cynder mused, brushing her wing against Flame's.

"Awfully far?" Ember echoed. "How about nowhere _near_? Pillasia is at _least _a week's flight away without stops."

Spyro shrugged his shoulders. "I don't get it either. Maybe the vegetation in their land isn't sustainable for wildlife?"

"Ancestors know the grublins probably burned everything in sight when they used to live there," Ember sneered. "Dumbest creatures in Avalar."

A few chuckles escaped everyone.

Flame sank his head and focused back to the forest.

"How are we ever going to find them in there?" he muttered, almost inaudible with the wind pushing past them. Spyro scanned the horizon. The forest spanned for miles across the land with no clearings or space to maneuver.

"Hunter and Meadow were able to find them," Spyro said. "They're in there somewhere, I just know it."

It was a flimsy reason. They didn't have much to go on other than the Cheetahs had spotted the Pillari hunting in the forest after four days of tracking. The Guardians had sent Spyro and his friends out almost immediately after they'd received the message from Hunter and Meadow. It was likely the Pillari were still in the forest, but to consider the day wasted because they were wrong wasn't easy to swallow.

Cynder laid a claw on his shoulder and softened her gaze. "Don't worry...we'll find them."

Spyro nodded. It was imperative they captured a Pillarian, and the idea of failure made his nerves flare. He inched up a smile before descending. The others followed. They winded around the trees, wings squeezing between trunks, before landing on a cushion of grass. The spongy ground and surrounding brush broke away his boundaries. His upbringing in a mushroom forest surfaced. It allowed him a peaceful breath before their mission returned in force. His muscles tensed.

The sun broke through and casted speckled light through the branches. The rays swayed along with the foliage. The forest breathed and sighed. Grass billowed, from the droopy bramble reaching high over their backs to the prickly growth under their paws. The trees were as dense as Spyro expected, though there was plenty of room to navigate. It was a wooden cage, but it wasn't an oppressing one.

Ember whipped her head to a bird pattering high in the thicket, furrowing her brows. "Alright, we're here. Where do we start?"

Cynder peered to an opening through the leaves. "Terrador said the cheetahs spotted them heading North, likely tracking a herd."

"Geez, for them to end up all the way out here they must have been tracking that herd for days. They'll have left tracks," Flame said. His eyes glowered at every little indent in the ground, his maroon talons gliding over the spiny grass. "Should we split up?"

Spyro shook his head. "No. When we find them, we need to take them together."

"Good point," Flame agreed, pursing his lips. "And...about that...how exactly are we going to decide who to bring back with us?"

"Preferably someone light," Cynder muttered under her breath, to which Ember released a hitch of air.

"We don't know who we're going up against," Spyro said. "We'll decide together once we've seen them. Everyone agree?"

The other three dragons gave a round of approval.

"Alright, let's do this."

Spyro nudged his head, and they crept along the brush. His ears were strained to catch any sound, but his mind wandered to Sparx. He hadn't attended the meeting earlier, nor did he bid them farewell for their mission. It was easy to chalk it up as Sparx being Sparx, getting fussy for not joining them, but it stuck out to Spyro.

A sharp whistle from a bird made him jump. Taking a deep breath, he shook off his mullings and pushed on.

* * *

Spyro didn't know how cheetahs tracked so well.

They searched in silence for over two hours, Spyro guessed, and hadn't found a single sign of the Pillari. It had taken them roughly four hours to fly to the Avalarian forest. They were running out of precious daylight. They twitched at the slightest rustle of leaves. Every so often a twig snapped only for a rabbit to scurry off, or something to that effect. Spyro felt hunger eating at his stomach, but refused to stop for a meal.

His paws ached, and his wings itched to spread out and stretch. Cynder hung her head, and Flame released an occasional groan. It added to his scrambled mind. Spyro began to believe they would find nothing. It weighed down on his back like a chunk of stone. The forest closed in around them. Trees blurred together into brown pillars. It wasn't natural for a dragon to stay in an enclosed space for a long period. The lack of Pillari culminated into a paranoid trip leading nowhere.

The sun had shifted enough to darken the area. If it wasn't for the golden blue sky breaking through, Spyro would have sworn it was nighttime. He thought to call off the search. It had niggled at the back of his head, easy to ignore, but had grown louder with every passing minute.

He eyed the group to gauge their behavior. Ember had stopped mid-step. Her head was held high and focused on a spot out of sight. Flame bumped into her and jumped with a surprised yelp. Ember squinted and bobbed her head to the side.

"What?" Flame hissed. He beat Spyro to the question, head hunched. "What is-?" Ember held a claw to Flame's lips, silencing him quickly.

She lowered her paw carefully and crept away from the group. Flame shot a panicked look to Spyro before following behind. Spyro didn't dare breath, not until Ember brought her snout to the ground.

She sniffed once, then ran the tip of one of her claws through the grass.

"Blood," she muttered under her breath. "Deer blood."

"You think a wolf killed it?" Flame murmured. "The Pillari aren't the only hunters out here."

"No...she's on to something," Spyro whispered. He took in the scene, small as it was. "Look, wood fragments."

Ember took a whiff of one shard of wood and blanched.

"Definitely Pillari."

"The deer must have fallen on the arrow that pierced it."

Ember tapped Flame's shoulder and nudged to the faint trail of blood drips leading away. Ember turned to the others and they nodded. The blood was fresh. The Shadows were close.

They inched their way across the forest floor. Five years had gone by since the Grublin War meaning Spyro and his friends had grown five years larger. Standing at full height, Spyro and his friends now stood just above eye level of an average-sized Pillarian: perfectly sized to hide within tall grass.

The atmosphere had hushed. Spyro heard his heartbeat in his ears. By the time they gathered under an angled tree, leaves camouflaging them, the slightest rustle would get them to pounce.

Flame parted the tall grass, slow enough to act like a breeze.

Spyro caught a glimpse of dangerous figures off in the distance.

The Pillari.

Seven. There were seven of them. A hundred yards away. Details were difficult to glean. They were rooted to the spot. One paced to the side, and another shifted in place. They were statues, waiting. Spyro didn't want to blink for fear of missing something vital. His heart pounding against his chest.

"What do we do?" Cynder whispered. Her voice sent his pulse skyward. Her claws dug into the dirt.

Spyro exhaled slowly. It didn't sooth him. There were too many to keep track of, something he knew would become a serious issue in battle. Quickly, Spyro came up with a naming system: the first word that comes to mind based on the appearance of each Pillarian.

"This isn't the best place to fight," he said. A blond Pillarian pulled his arm up, gesturing, before returning it to his side. _Blond_, Spyro thought. He exhaled again. "I say we try to split them up and take out as many as we can silently. If they spot us, we rush them."

"Who do we keep alive?" Ember asked. Her claws scratched at the same spot in the ground. It formed a tiny trench segregating mulch and plant life.

Spyro flicked his head to the Pillari and lead the group through the foliage. Every step was well placed, every breath steady. Spyro slid behind a clump of trees.

The Pillari had bows nocked with arrows, but relaxed in their grip.

Green and brown splattered across their tunics. Leather armor tied around their arms and legs, ranging from tan to brown. Rabbits hung from their belts, and a larger Pillarian carried a deer on his shoulders.

The sight of a sword made Spyro flinch. Most had one slung over their back. One or two had axes instead. One of the Pillarians stood like a giant, well over six feet tall with a sword twice as long, stained with the blood of ancestors know what. A memory of seeing a similar sword cleave through a dragon flashed in Spyro. _Cleave_, he thought, giving the giant a shallow name. He swallowed before a steam of smoke could escape him. Cleave was undoubtedly their biggest threat and by far one of the biggest Pillarians Spyro had ever seen. His stance made him look ready to swing at the first sign of movement.

The rest were built just as imposing, though not as broad. It was more of a war band than a hunting party. Muscles bulging, sweat dripping, and by the stench, had enough kills under their belt.

All of them...except one. He would have gone unnoticed, hidden among the throng of three Pillarians, but he moved enough for Spyro to catch. He was smaller in size, frame, build, all of the above. Still as tall as the others, but more trim. There wasn't seven shadows but _eight_.

The eighth Pillarian, while concerning, was still lithe. _Lithe_, Spyro thought quickly. The only weapons he carried were a long, wooden staff strapped to his back and a small dagger strapped to his shin. Spyro pegged him as the easiest to take down, which meant they had their target.

"The smaller one, see him?" he said, voice hushed. "Brown hair, staff strapped to his back."

He didn't wait for a reply.

"I say he's our target. He doesn't seem as threatening. Might be easier to carry too."

A faint grunt from Cynder got a ghost of a smile from him.

"I'll get him," Ember growled. Her wings fluttered, and there was enough bite in her words to snap steel.

"We need him alive," Spyro reminded.

"Right. Can't promise he won't have a few broken bones."

Her eyes met Spyro's before breaking off. She slithered through the bushes like a snake.

Flame split off in the opposite direction while Cynder stayed close to Spyro. Having her at his side filled him with confidence. They stalked toward the hunting party. Parts of their conversation slipped into earshot. Spyro perked his head.

"Ya know, if you were a better shot, maybe this wouldn't be the only kill you get this week," Blond snickered, shaking the leg of the dead deer on Cleave's shoulders.

Cleave reared around and jabbed his finger at him. "I'll make that two if you don't watch your tongue," he growled in a low, menacing tone.

"Guys, would you shut it? You're gonna scare away half the forest." a pale-skinned Pillarian growled.

_Pale_, Spyro named him.

"It wouldn't be the first time these dumbasses scared away every kill within two miles," another muttered. This one had a milky white eye from a scar.

_Scar_, Spyro thought.

A gentle touch tore Spyro away from their conversation, and he turned to Cynder.

"That one in the back, you see him?" she asked, pointing slowly with a sharp claw.

Spyro squinted at the Pillarian pacing through the forest. His footfalls were clumsy and heavy, and he never glanced in one direction for longer than a second. It's as if every little sound was the most interesting thing he had ever heard.

_Dopey_, Spyro thought, stifling a chuckle before snapping back to attention.

"Let's take him out first," she whispered. "He's a weak link."

Spyro grinned sarcastically. "How can you tell?"

Without answering, Cynder pulled up enough to poke her muzzle over the foliage and let out a small siren scream. Spyro had to dig his claws into the ground to stop him from jumping out of his scales. He didn't have to check to know the hunting party had their focus in their direction. Spyro nudged Cynder, wide-eyed, already wanting to tear after them before they found them first. She patted the air, signaling for him to wait.

"You guys hear that?" the Dopey whispered. His knuckles were white from clenching his bow.

"It sounded like a dying animal," Pale shrugged, uncaring. "Wolf probably got to it first."

"I'm gonna go check it out!" Dopey said, and he streaked away toward Spyro and Cynder.

"_Merek! Wait, stay with the group!" _Blond hissed. His words fell on deaf ears. He turned to the others, his blond eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't anyone ever teach that dumbass to hunt properly?"

"That's why he's out here with us," one of the others groaned. This one had long, braided fur on his head that looked like a mess of tree vines.

_Vine_, Spyro named him like the others.

Vine adjusted the grip on his bow. "I'll go after him."

Dopey, or Merek Spyro now learned, slowed his pace as he travelled further and further out of view of the hunting party. He twisted in circles, hands trembling with excitement. His fumbling drew him closer to Spyro and Cynder. She shifted her legs to ready herself.

Spyro waited for it, but was still surprised by her speed.

Cynder grabbed at his ankle and tripped him onto his back. Within the grass, she muffled his scream with one paw and slashed at his throat with the other. His hands batted against her side, but she stonewalled him. The life drained from him until his arms went limp. He convulsed once or twice before lying still.

Before Spyro had a chance to say anything to Cynder, Vine trampled into view, his bow drawn tightly in front of him. Spyro and Cynder ducked lower, but his gaze lingered on their position. The nocked arrow slid further back

Spyro tensed his muscles and balanced himself to launch out.

A red blur burst from the grass and tackled Vine from behind. His gasp was a wheeze, a desperate attempt for air. He landed hard on his face with Flame latched onto his back. Vine wriggled the best he could with pained breathes. Flame sunk his claws into his spine and ripped straight down. He choked with a horrid heave. Flame took another swipe at his shoulder with a satisfied sneer. The blood spattered against the leaves.

Spyro tasted bile. It wasn't the first time Flame took delight in killing Pillarians.

The hunting party spoke over one another. Spyro had to strain his ears to catch their words.

"What the fuck was that?" Scar stammered.

"Something isn't right here," Cleave hissed. "Everyone stay close."

"What about the others?" one with no fur on his head asked.

_Nofur_, Spyro thought once more.

"They're a lost cause," Pale interrupted. He dropped his bow to draw his short, iron sword.

The other Pillarians discarded their bows as well, baring their blades. Cleave untied the deer from his shoulders. It fell to the ground, and he took his time to draw his longsword. Both of his hands gripped the handle. A shiver ran through Spyro. He was lucky to hide it from Cynder.

The Lithe shifted his weight and grabbed hold of the staff on his back. Spyro found it odd he didn't carry a normal sword or axe. A question that didn't have time for an answer.

"What now?" Cynder whispered.

The Pillari pressed up to one another in a circle. Their swords and axes pointed to the woods around them while Lithe held the staff at his side, looking as if he was sensing the air around him. Spyro didn't see them getting the jump on them. They were on guard enough to strike the ruffle of a tree branch. The trees were still too clustered to fly in from above. Stealth was no longer an option, they had eyes facing every direction and flight wasn't possible in the tight clusters of tree trunks.

Spyro spotted his shadow from the few drops of light and narrowed his eyes. With a claw he tapped the ground, then flicked a stone an inch away. Cynder watched, eyes still, before she lifted her head enough to acknowledge it. Spyro couldn't stop a comforting grunt. A simple gesture was understood in a few heartbeats.

Cynder breathed in, then out, and dove into her shadow like it was a foggy black lake. Flame jerked when the shadow darted past. It drew up to the hunting party at lightning speed. Blond snapped over to it.

"What the hell is that?!" Nofur yelled, hopping back.

Lithe's eyes widened in fear. He grabbed his staff with both hands and held it defensively.

"It's a scaly!"

Cynder erupted from the ground in a violet burst. The Pillari were sent flying in every direction.

Spyro charged. In the corner of his eye, Flame did too. Ember leapt from her spot and made for Lithe. He was already on his feet, as though he was never knocked down in the first place.

Cleave pushed himself back onto his feet, "Get the fuck up, we're under attack!"

His command had left his lips right before he ducked away from Spyro's earth missile. It pommeled the tree behind him and the bark splintered into pieces.

He held his longsword at the ready. Spyro aimed a bigger earth missile at his gut. One swift swing, and the missile was cut down the middle. Both pieces flew past his sides.

Cleave was level with Spyro, something Spyro wasn't used to from a Pillarian, and he swung in a wide arc. He was swift for his size, and nicked Spyro on the shoulder. He hissed and took a swipe with his claws. They exchanged attacks, parrying each other and lapsing into a fury of swings. They managed to avoid each other until Spyro got his claws on the sword and pushed it away. Cleave swayed and tried to catch his footing.

Flame slammed to the ground with a bloody-fisted Nofur looming over him. Spyro jerked in his direction, his blood running cold. Cleave lobbed his sword and it landed an inch away from his neck. He followed with several more swings, faster than before. Spyro juked them all, but avoiding one left him open to another.

Craftiness won out over brute force. That tidbit blasted in Spyro's head. Cleave swung down hard, missing by a small margin, and slamming into the dirt. Spyro slid around him and slashed his hamstring.

Cleave bellowed a curse and fell to his knees. Spyro jumped onto his back and shoved him to the stony earth.

Spyro wasted a second to figure out where to strike next, and Cleave elbowed him off his back. His vision went in and out of focus as Cleave rammed his sword hilt into Spyro's face. Spyro cried out as spots filled his vision. A small gash formed under his eye. He caught sight of movement and rolled to the side. A sword thudded against the ground, and Spyro breathed a stream of fire where he thought Cleave stood.

The sword clanged to the ground. Cleave clutched his shaking hands. They were blackened and skeletal, pieces peeling in certain spots, and reeked of burnt flesh. Spyro focused again and reared his head back. Flames billowed in his lungs.

"Spyro, look out!" Cynder cried.

Spyro felt his heart leap to his throat as he dropped down. A tomahawk sailed overhead and slammed into a tree. It was Scar. Jumping back up, he spotted Scar raise another tomahawk over his head.

A bolt of electricity shot out of Spyro's maw and zapped the axe out of Scar's hand. Frantically, he clutched his spasming hand. Spyro lurched onto his hind legs and slammed his forelegs down sending a trail of ice spikes rumbling through the ground toward Scar.

Scar tried to shift away, but two spikes impaled his leg and locked him in place. His scream was shrill. Blood dripped down the icy needles.

Spyro pushed off to charge him but two hands tugged back hard on his tail. He slipped and his teeth clicked together as his jaw hit the dirt. Before he could stand to fight, Cleave slammed his fists relentlessly against Spyro's head, dazing him. Desperately, Spyro covered his head with his wings to dampen the blow, if only mildly. Enough for him to gather his bearings. In an explosive motion, Spyro flashed his wings open, knocking Cleave off balance, then quickly swept at his legs with his tail blade. Cleave cried out as a long gash was painted into both his shins.

Just as Spyro pounced toward him, Cleave dodged to the side, falling under his own weight from the slices on his legs. Before Spyro could pounce again, Cleave grabbed a handful of dirt, throwing it straight into Spyro's eyes. Spyro roared with pain. The coarse dirt stung his eyes, making them water. Frantically, he rubbed them with his palms, trying to regain his sight. All at once, he heard Cleave grunt as he reared to swing the heavy sword he'd regathered. Blinded by the dirt, Spyro quickly rolled away, completely guessing where the sword was swung. A sharp pain immediately shot through him as a thin slice was drawn into the side of his neck. Before he could even acknowledge the pain, he heard Cleave grunt, signaling another swing.

Thinking fast, Spyro chose the direction he thought he heard Cleave standing and charged into a comet dash, his body erupting into flames. As Spyro charged forward at lightning speed, he felt himself bash into Cleave's body followed by the heavy sound of Cleave crashing into the dirt. The weight of Cleave's body nearly shook the atmosphere.

Furiously, Spyro rubbed the last of the dirt out of his eyes, blinking away the tears and seeing Cleave try to regain the breath which had been knocked out of him. Spyro didn't linger before leaping onto Cleave. His teeth sunk into Cleave's neck until it hit bone, then Spyro pressed harder. There was a snap and Cleave was silenced.

It took Spyro a second to realize blood flooded his mouth.

He broke away with hacks and coughs. The air was sweet honey to his burning lungs. There was so much to process. His head still swam, his legs wavering as though on an airship again.

The world came back into focus. The battle returned in screams and grunts. The most distinguishable sound was the chipping of ice. Scar hacked at one last chunk of ice with an axe and freed himself, seething. Spyro raced toward him, catching Flame ram his horns through Nofur, both of his bloody-fists having been torn off, and pinning him against a tree. It got a flinch out of Spyro. The crunch as the Flame's horns broke Nofur's bones didn't help.

Scar struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on one leg. He glared at Spyro and threw his tomahawk hard. A quick roll barely got Spyro out of the way.

Spyro made to push off and pounce Scar, but was quickly stopped when his front paw exploded in pain. He stumbled over his own weight and landed on his shoulder. His front leg was numb enough to make it agonizing to drag it into view.

An arrow stuck out of his paw.

Spyro clenched his teeth, his breath ragged. It had gone clean through, leaving the shaft intact. He forced his jaw open and snapped the arrowhead clean off. With pained whimpers, he eased the wood out. His fangs weren't meant for delicate work. Every unintended shift caused a surge of pain up to his elbow.

Another arrow whizzed past. Spyro clenched his teeth and tore the rest of the shaft out in one, excruciating motion. Every fiber in his being fought back tears.

Pale nocked another arrow from the cover of a tree trunk. Spyro got to his feet, curling his bleeding paw to his chest, and Pale took aim.

Quickly, Cynder shot a siren scream at Pale. His body shuddered as the bow slipped from his hands, which clutched his head instead. His screams pierced the air, anguish and full of terror. His biggest nightmare was all he could see.

Spyro reminded himself again not to ask Cynder what her enemies went through.

Cynder flew into a whirlwind, wings outstretched with blades. They sliced into Pale without mercy, riddling him with gashes that never stopped appearing. With a flourish, like a dancer at the finale, she swept past and tucked in her wings. Pale floundered, weeping, before falling in a heap.

It was mystifying. Spyro caught himself staring at Cynder battling _again_, and shook his head. The beauty in her technique could wait. Scar held a small dagger by the blade, taking aim at Cynder.

A fire erupted in Spyro. His aching lungs protested, but he ignored them.

He inhaled deeply and released an inferno of flames. The light illuminated the forest in a bright orange hue.

Scar ignited into a fury of flames and he batted at himself to try and extinguish them. Spyro never relented, pouring it on until Scar contorted in an unnatural position in the grass. Every inch of his skin was charred and crackling.

"Spyro! I need you over here!"

Ember's cry forced Spyro to fight through the pain in his paw and sprint over to her. She kept her distance with Lithe and Blond. The latter lobbed arrow after arrow, which she avoided with quick side steps.

"I got this idiot, take out that archer!" she yelled before another stream of fire burst from her maw. Lithe shifted out of the way and managed to clock her in the face with a rapid spin of his staff. The fire ceased immediately.

Spyro hurried toward Blond and leapt into the air mid sprint. He rolled himself into an earth boulder and soared straight for Blond. The weightlessness mixed with the lack of impact made the flight feel longer.

Then the boulder shattered. Spyro toppled over himself and landed on his bad leg. He grunted in pain, springing back to his feet. Blond glanced to Lithe.

His arm was held straight out. Dark smoke emanated off of his hand. It didn't take Spyro long to put that and the boulder shattering prematurely together.

_Malefor's tongue...he's a mage. _

Spyro jolted. It all made sense, why Lithe hadn't been carrying a normal weapon. _He _was the weapon. The staff was just a diversion to hide his true power.

_Mage_, Spyro thought. _His name is mage_.

Spyro felt like a fool. How could he have missed such an obvious detail? It endangered one of his closest friends. Ember wasn't fighting any ordinary Pillarian.

She was fighting the most dangerous one here.

_Too late to change targets now_, Spyro thought.

He locked his eyes back to Blond. He had his sword out with a glare just as sharp. Without breaking eye contact, Blond whistled over his shoulder. His blade ignited in a dark purple blaze. Mage had smoke emanating off of his hand again. It wasn't hard to pinpoint how the Blond had enchanted his weapon.

Spyro hesitated. _Oh...that's not good. _

Blond lunged at him, the dark flames flared with each swipe. Spyro moved out of the way, but his scales still singed. Blond swung with deliberate intent, like he had an idea of how to keep Spyro on the defensive. The heat prevented him from countering. He could only focus on not getting decapitated.

Fast swings meant a lack of balance. Another tidbit that came to mind. After the next swing, Spyro pressed a paw to the earth. It rumbled, and Blond fumbled. Spyro leapt at him.

He kicked off of Blond's chest to send him tumbling to the ground. Spyro snapped his maw at him, latching onto his wrist. Blond released the flaming sword, Spyro's jaws forcing his hand open. It sizzled in the turf, flames licking at Spyro, but he tightened his bite.

Blond kicked and yelled. Every hit dazed Spyro. One nasty stomp had him snap down. Blond howled as his hand snapped off in a bloody mess.

The flaming sword still sat in the burnt grass. With a burst of speed, Spyro gripped it in his jaws and spun around to swing at Blond. It cut diagonally, and the flames bloomed in his chest. Blond was no longer screaming, or maybe couldn't. His expression was wide-eyed and vacant. The heat snipped at Spyro and he released the sword with a grunt. Blond flopped to the ground, dead.

A loud thump pulled Spyro back to Mage. Ember struggled up against a tree, teeth clenched, before slumping back down. She lay still.

"Ember!" Spyro yelled.

Mage sagged, breathing heavily. His staff was broken in half, lying on the ground. Ember must have slashed through it before he managed a good hit on her with magic. He eyed Spyro, and his hatred boiled over. Spyro bared his teeth.

Mage clenched his fists. His arms ignited in a dark fire. They were magic tricks to Spyro. Their workings weren't hard to figure out.

He charged at Spyro and swung his fists in rage. Spyro managed to dodge all of his swings until Mage got a good slam on his shoulder. The dark fire singed Spyro's scales, and he cried out.

Mage stepped back and extinguished his arms of darkness in favor of a black bolt buzzing in his grip. Spyro ducked as he threw. The heat fazed over him, and the bolt struck a tree instead. It splintered in two as though stricken by lightning.

Spyro spat an ice bolt when he hopped back onto his paws. It went wide and hit Mage's hand where he had another bolt ready. His icy hand shivered as the bolt fizzled out.

Spyro threw his body into him and up against the tree. Mage knocked his head. A groan escaped his lips as his neck turned to and fro.

Spyro breathed a hailstorm onto Mage's hand, freezing it to the tree. In an attempt to break free, Mage grabbed at his arm and began pulling as hard as he could. Losing all feeling in his fingers, plus the hit to his head, left him in a vulnerable spot.

Spyro shoved him back and put the weight of his body against Mage's. The shove hyperextended Mage's elbow back while his hand stayed in place.

"Get off, get off!" Mage begged. "Stop! Stop pushing!" His words blurred together, speeding up as each tendon was torn. He kicked Spyro in the gut, but Spyro persisted.

Spyro squeezed his eyes shut and gave one final push. There was crinkle of ice before it shattered. Mage screamed, the two toppled over, and Spyro got a good look at Mage's arm bending the wrong way.

Spyro balked. Ice coated Mage's hand and wrist, and while there was no blood, the sight itself left Spyro at a loss. Even as Mage gripped his elbow, quivering and biting his tongue to stifle his cries, Spyro reeled back to the wounded from the Pillari's first attack.

The blood-curling yells, the inescapable stench of iron and wrought, the injuries so severe that Spyro couldn't even recognize folks.

And with a blink, he was back in front of Mage, one limb broken. Tears welled up in Mage's eyes, but refused to pour down his cheek. He knelt down with his arm cradled against his stomach. Spyro approached with no idea what to do.

Mage grabbed a nearby rock the size of his fist and bashed Spyro over the head with it.

Spyro winced and stumbled back before Mage tackled him to the ground, raising the rock above his head to bash Spyro's skull once more.

Suddenly, a concussion of wind knocked Mage off and sent him flying. Mage cried out in agony as he landed on his broken elbow. Spyro eased himself up before Cynder slid to his side and let him lean on her. He grunted in a curt thanks, and Cynder nodded.

From the corner of his eye, Spyro spotted Flame help Ember back to her paws. It soothed him to see her alive. They exchanged glances with one another before circling Mage. Mage budged and writhed, rising to his feet with every ounce of pain.

Mage's sunken brown eyes, hiding under messy brown fur, lifted to Spyro. It framed the rest of his face. Gaunt cheeks, outlined by shorter fur wrapped around his mouth and jaw, and the small nose that was so bizarre to see on any human.

They glared at him, daring Mage to pull something with four dragons bearing on him. Mage's breaths were ragged. Sweat glistened off his skin. No attack would have enough energy to strike them fast enough. Even as he eyed everyone through furrowed brows, sizing them up, his body shook. Mage's head drooped.

"Screw it," he muttered.

In one quick motion, he slammed his fist into the ground and a shockwave launched the dragons out in different directions. Small branches crashed down to the ground in a flurry of leaves. Spyro and Cynder tangled themselves over each other before landing in a heap within the trees, and from what Spyro could catch, Ember rolled hard onto the grass.

An ear-shattering crack numbed him like a wedge had been driven into his heart.

He scanned over Cynder to find no injury and scrambled over to see Flame unmoving at the foot of a tree. Blood pooled under his head.

"Flame!" Ember screamed. Her voice cracked. Then she rose, and turned with each step tearing up the grass before facing Mage. Spyro had never seen her eyes burn so fiercely with hatred, the kind that kindled but never flared up. The kind of hatred he himself had gone through after Ignitus died.

Mage sank to one knee, breathless, though didn't pay any mind to Ember.

"Shit, shit, _shit_," Mage gasped through short breaths. "That was stupid."

Mage put pressure on his knee to stand, but Ember rammed into him. His body crashed back down again, and he gagged and coughed to get air back into his lungs.

Mage's good hand reached and padded for a knife strapped to his shin. He thrusted it at her flank, but she grabbed his arm with her claws. They dug deeper and deeper until Mage cried out and his fingers snapped open. The knife fell blade first into the dirt.

Ember lunged and snapped her jaws over his neck. The two drew back and were both still. The entire forest was silent. Not a breath was heard. A ball of conflict welled up in Spyro. He was sure Ember had killed him.

He moved over to them, almost unfeeling. Ember hadn't sunk her teeth into his windpipe. Mage clenched his teeth, still and silent, his eyes zipped around. It didn't ease Spyro, not when Ember had him dead in her sights. The slightest provocation was all she would need.

"Come on, you fucking scaly!" Mage yelled. His chest rose and fell rapidly. "Rip my throat out and be done with it!"

Spyro was sure Mage had a death wish. The words rang between the trees. A desperate plea to put up a front, but the more Spyro eyed his form, the less convinced he was. Mage's body shook hard enough for Ember's fangs to draw trickles of blood along his throat. Mage squinted to keep his tears at bay. Spyro didn't care, but couldn't ignore the pang in his chest.

His brow furrowed to hide it.

"What do we do?" Cynder asked.

Spyro jerked to the side. He didn't hear her approach. His gaze drew from her to Mage to Ember, then back to Mage again. Seconds passed, and Spyro couldn't organize his thoughts. His paw stung, his lungs ached, and knowing Flame might have died had pinpricks in the back of his head.

"Knock him out," he said. It came so fluidly, like it was natural.

Cynder shot a bolt of shadow at Mage's head and he immediately went unconscious. Ember released her grip on his neck, revealing a cluster of teeth marks.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. All of her aggressive energy drained. She hurried to Flame with wobbly legs until she crumbled at his side.

"Flame!" she cried, holding his head in her arms. Her breath hitched. "Oh, ancestors, please no, no, no. Flame please, _please_!"

Cynder crept to her and laid a wing over her quivering form. Spyro stared at Flame as though he would pop open his eyes and laugh at their reactions. The stillness gnawed at that optimism. Cynder had Ember break away, sobbing, and Spyro brought his ear to Flame's chest.

"Come on, buddy," Spyro whispered. He closed out the world, focusing everything he could into his ear for the slightest hint of life. There was nothing. Spyro strained himself.

A heartbeat, faint but there.

His muscles turned to mush. Spyro had to stiffen his legs to avoid plopping down from how lightheaded he was.

"He's alive," Spyro said. Two words he was glad to say. There were still sobs from Ember, but they were subdued.

Ember took a shaky breath, standing as tall as she could muster, and nodded.

"If he's alive," Cynder spoke up, authoritative, "then we need to get him to Warfang, including him."

Cynder nodded to an unconscious Mage. Spyro sighed. "If I carry Flame, one of you is going to have to-"

"I am _not_ carrying that filthy _skhint_ back to our _home_," Ember snapped. The fire reignited through her tears. Her voice dripped with venom. "You give him to me and I _promise_ I'll break _every_ bone in his body. I will _blaze _him. I will _claw _his _eyes out_!"

"I'll take him," Cynder said, stopping her and earning a fierce glare from Ember. "But we have to bury these bodies before we leave, make it difficult for a search party to find them."

Spyro blinked. It was insightful and a good decision, but he had to ponder why he hadn't considered it himself.

Ember took a deep breath. "Agreed."

The bodies littered over the area gave Spyro pause. It was surreal, as it always was after a battle.

"I can make a mass grave if we gather them up," Spyro added. The other two looked at him. Once again, Spyro was at a loss of words. He swallowed. "Let's do it quickly and get out of here."

There was no acknowledgement. Cynder helped Ember up and they split off to gather the bodies. Ember wrinkled her nose as she passed each dead Pillarian. A flash of flame escaped her lips.

Spyro glared at Mage, lying motionless in the bloody grass. The one they chose to let live, the one with dark magic, the one who had nearly killed two of his best friends. All because he was _lithe_. All because he was smaller than the others.

_Consider yourself lucky_, he thought to himself.

* * *

**Thank you all for checking out my story! Means a lot to me as this story has been one of my passion projects. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and/or which areas you would like to see improvement in my writing. **

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	4. Four

**Low and behold, chapter four lies below. UPDATE: Chapter three has been heavily edited to promote clarity. Rereading chapter three would be a wise idea. But, if you would rather not, here's a quick recap:**

**-The last surviving Pillarian is a mage (who's name you will learn soon enough)**

**-Spyro and his friends have grown five years bigger, putting them just above eye level of an average-sized human/Pillarian at standing height**

**Those are the two biggest aspects that were not made clear before the edits. Other than that, some fight tweaks were made here and there. Lastly, I'd like to give a large, draconic thanks to SKdaGamer: author of "Broken Perceptions," and the wonderful proof-reader of my story. **

**Now, onward!**

* * *

Ember dumped Blond into the pit. His body flopped onto the rest with an unsettling thump. She was already at Flame's side before the body had settled. Her wing draped over him to pull herself close. Spyro dragged Cleave by his arm with his jaws then tossed him in the pit in one, exhausted swoop. Cynder did the same with Merek, or Dopey to Spyro. The sickening thump made his stomach flip. The horrendous smell of fresh blood and charred flesh would not go away. It made Spyro lightheaded, more so when Cynder tossed in Vine, the last Pillarian body.

Mangled bodies stared up at Spyro. Limbs criss-crossed each other, heads mauled beyond recognition, and the random mass of armor and cloth strewn around. It was an image shared with the other battles against the Pillari. They always ended in death.

There was no other option, a gleaming reassurance that Spyro clung to, though a peaceful resolution was preferable. The Pillari would never have accepted a proposition like that, nor the Guardians for that matter. There were too many losses, too many families broken, to hope for a truce.

Cynder coughed. Her eyes were misty from the stench.

"Close it up, Spyro, please," she said. Her voice was hoarse. She pulled away to hide her empathy for the Pillarians. "I don't want to look at them anymore."

Cynder covered her face with a wing. As she backed away, Ember sobbed to herself. Her eyes were buried in her embrace with Flame. Spyro nodded, but Cynder had backed too far to see it. Flame wasn't the only one hurt in the battle.

Spyro lifted one of his forelegs and slammed it into the ground. The earth rumbled under their claws. Like a monster's maw, the earth swallowed the bodies until the pit was filled to the brim. Grass sprouted across the surface like daisies. The massacre had never happened, hidden away from the dragons and Pillari alike.

A chill ran down Spyro's spine. The bodies would forever decay beneath the soil, lost to their own families and friends. It bothered him more than it should have.

Cynder's warm paw tore him away from his thoughts. Spyro took a deep breath, centering himself.

"Alright. We need to get back. Who knows how soon the Pillari will notice one of their hunting parties has gone missing?"

Cynder nodded as they stopped in front of Mage, looking as dead as the others except for the staggered rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. A grimace slithered across her lips as she peered down at him.

His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle while his right arm was gushing with blood where Ember had dug her claws in. A few thin streaks of blood trickled down his neck where Ember's fangs had cut through.

Cynder looked away, shuddering at Mage's grotesque appearance. Her eyes focused down on Spyro's foot, where the arrow had gone through. She quickly changed the subject. "How does it feel?" she asked, gesturing with her tail.

"Better. Still a bit sore though," he said, flexing it a bit. They'd been lucky enough to find a small life crystal while cleaning up the bodies. Just enough to heal his foot and the gash on Flame's temple.

Spyro turned his attention back to Mage once more. "You're sure he won't wake up? I don't want him trying to kill you while we're flying."

Cynder shook her head. "He won't. The shadow bolt I hit him with will keep him out for at least a few hours, maybe more." She lifted up his bleeding arm in her paw. "This hasn't stopped yet. You don't think he'll bleed out, do you?"

Spyro thought for a moment before he took Mage's mangled arm from Cynder. He released a small streak of fire, the equivalent of a soft sigh, over the wounds. Mage winced in his sleep. Spyro had to tighten his grip to stop him from pulling his arm away. The skin wrinkled, the hairs shriveling and disintegrating, until the cuts were cauterized. Spyro loosened his grip on Mage's arm to have it fall to the ground. Mage grew still once again.

"Now he won't," Spyro replied.

Cynder groaned in her throat. She took a deep breath before hoisting Mage onto her back. Her knees buckled a bit under the weight. The dragons had grown bigger over the past five years, but carrying anything on their backs still wasn't as easy as it was for fully-grown dragons. Mage's body sprawled across her back while his head rested against her neck. When she steadied herself, she gave Spyro a nod.

Ember rose as they made their way over to Flame.

"What are we going to do about the blood?" she asked in a dead tone. At the sight of Mage slumped across Cynder's back, the fire in her eyes reignited. She looked ready to breathe hellfire on him at the drop of a branch.

A growl emanated from her throat. She tore herself away from him. "There's no way a regular hunt would leave this much behind."

Spyro had to check the scene again. The sight of blood had escaped him. There was enough to show _something_ had occurred. How he had missed it caused a stir in him. It didn't paint him in a conscious light, unlike the forest. There was enough red to paint a room.

There was nothing more he wanted than to go home. He sighed. "I know, but there's no way to hide it. Let's just hope it stays hidden for awhile. The Avalarian Forest is vast enough."

"You can't make it rain, can you?" Cynder said dryly.

"If only," Spyro replied.

* * *

**No one said a word during the flight back. The silence was brutal. Warfang came into view like a shimmering miracle. It was cast in orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Cynder hung her legs, eyes unfocused. Every shift of her shoulders had her bristle at the extra weight. **

Spyro empathized with her. Flame was a lot heavier than he had expected. His wings felt as though they were battered with hammers. Ember hadn't lifted her gaze much during the flight except to glance at Flame. Smoke rose from her nostrils the few times she eyed Mage.

"Land in front of the temple," Spyro called. "We can't have anyone knowing there's a Pillarian in the city."

The city was as sleepy as its residents. No one walked the streets. Even the wind had ceased. Under the cover of darkness, they slipped through the doors without a glance back.

The three Guardians were gathered around Mason, a mole who was the head of weapons engineering. What little Spyro picked out of their conference were stats and performances. They were previewing a new invention. Ember closed the door with a hollow thud. It was enough to break them away to Spyro and the others approaching them.

Terrador twitched at the sight of Flame on Spyro's back.

"What happened here?" Terrador asked, concern in his tone.

Spyro found it hard to swallow. His throat was ash. Cynder was the one to step forward and present Mage with a raspy grunt.

"It was a tough fight," she said. Her head nudged to Mage on her back. "This one managed to take Flame out."

Mason shuddered. He sidestepped to hide under the shadow of Terrador.

"Is Flame okay?" Volteer asked. He couldn't keep his eyes on one dragon for more than a second. "How many were there?"

Spyro sighed. "He's alive, and there were seven others."

"And are they…?" Cyril trailed off. Spyro managed a nod. It was enough to relax Cyril. "Good."

Mason edged closer before waddling toward Flame. He kept his distance from Mage slumped along Cynder's back. His whiskers rippled at the white scar on his temple.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"The Pillarian's a mage," Ember said. It was gruff, coming out as a blunt answer with enough vitriol to cut steel. "Sent a burst of magic out. We all took a hit, but Flame smacked his head on a tree."

Smoke billowed from her nostrils again.

"I see," Mason nodded. He ran his paw around the injury before pulling away toward Mage, albeit at a slower pace. He stopped a good way away from him. "Seems you did quite a number on this one."

"You're going to want to restrain him before he wakes up. He's extremely aggressive."

"Oddly enough, my newest invention is just the thing for that," he replied. He flaunted the bracelet-like object in his grasp. Any shred of caution was stripped from him. "As fate would have it, this prevents whomever is wearing it from using any kind of magic."

"What?" Cynder asked. She leaned closer to the bracelet, squinting. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked! By utilizing the magnetic field of-" he tripped over himself at the stern look from Terrador. "Or perhaps this isn't the best time to explain."

"He'll try to remove it," Spyro warned.

"He can try, but removal by himself will be impossible. The only way to remove it once it has been locked is with a dragon's electricity element."

Mason was sure of himself. He locked the bracelet around Mage's ankle with a skip to his step. The lock clicked on the device. He backed away with his chin raised higher than when they had entered. A small electric pulse coarsed through Mage, causing him to jolt.

Spyro should have sat more at ease. The loss of his strength under Flame denied him that. He adjusted his footing to keep himself up. Terrador caught his gesture, more curious than concerned, before facing Volteer. It prompted him to speak.

"So, Terrador," Volteer said, rubbing a paw under his chin, "what do we do with our captive?"

Cyril scoffed. "Throw the little _skhint_ in the dungeon until we can deal with him."

"Cyril is right," Terrador said with a nod. There was an underlying tiredness to him. It was there for a moment before he shoved it aside. "He's no good to us while he's unconscious. Take him to the dungeon until he awakes. And Mason, see to it his and Flame's wounds are tended to."

* * *

Spyro and Cynder headed back up the dungeon steps toward the main floor of the temple. Halfway up, Cynder unfurled one of her wings in front of Spyro.

"Spyro, how do you feel about all this?"

Spyro raised his eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"That Pillarian being here," Cynder replied. Her eyes were filled with caution. "You saw what he was like in the forest. He's like a wild animal! He almost stabbed Ember, he knocked Flame out, he tried to bash your skull..." Her words were collected, though there was an underlying urgency in her tone. Her talons tensed against the stone steps. "I mean, what are we going to do if, no, _when_ he lashes out?"

"Against a room full of dragons? And with the ankle bracelet on him? He may be aggressive but I doubt he's _that_ foolish."

She took a deep breath. "I suppose. I don't know. I still don't like it."

"You're sure you want to be the one interrogating him?" Spyro asked.

She nodded. "Yes. I'm the only one he won't be able to lie to."

Spyro wanted to know why, but didn't press her. "You've done this before," he stated plainly, trying to reassure himself she would be fine. She hummed softly, looking away from him. Spyro instantly got the message to tread lightly around the subject.

Spyro sighed. "Alright. Let's just hope for the small chance that he cooperates and you don't have to deal with him."

"Agreed." A soft spark lit up in her eye, like a shooting star, and they continued their journey. "You think the Pillari have noticed one of their hunting parties is missing yet?"

"No, there's no way. They were more than a week's walk away from Pillasia," Spyro answered, trying to convince himself. He sighed. "We need all the time we can get." Longing weighed down his voice.

At the top of the steps, they ran into Mason holding two pouches of medical equipment and red gems.

"That Pillarian in a cell?" Mason asked, peering behind the dragons nervously.

"Yeah," Spyro replied. "Spenna gave him the smallest cell." Spyro felt a sense of relief knowing Spenna was the dungeon gatekeeper. She was one of the toughest dragons he'd ever met. To his knowledge, she had never lost a battle.

"I see," Mason began. "Well, I should hurry before he wakes up. This will be much easier while he's unconscious. Stay safe, you two," he saluted. He scuttled down the stone steps, his silhouette disappearing into the dungeon's overwhelming darkness.

Spyro and Cynder walked back out into the main hall. Flame now had an icy cloth resting on his head. Ember hadn't left his side.

"That _skhint_ locked up?" Ember asked, fire spurting out of her mouth mid sentence. Spyro and Cynder both nodded. "Good," she replied, returning her focus to Flame.

"What do you advise we do when our captive awakens?" Volteer asked Terrador.

"All of us will meet back here first thing in the morning when he wakes up," Terrador replied. "Ember, Flame needs to stay here with us tonight. If there are any problems, Mason needs to be able to tend to him immediately. He will be safe here if you'd like to go home and rest."

"I'm not leaving his side," Ember demanded. She pulled him closer to her.

Terrador nodded, seemingly knowing she'd refuse. "Alright. We'll move him into a more comfortable room. You can stay there as well. That Pillarian will be interrogated when we all arrive tomorrow."

"I'll gladly be the one to beat any information out of him," Ember growled under her breath.

"No," Terrador began. "We will give him a chance to speak before we decide to do anything drastic. If he refuses, Cynder, you may take over."

Cynder waved her tail across the stone floor. "Understood."

"The most important thing is that whatever you decide to do, you must keep him alive. He may be our only chance to gather the information we need to gain the advantage in this war. He's of no use to us dead," Terrador said, his face as serious as the statues out front. Cynder nodded, almost entranced by his expression. "Now, it's late. I suggest we all go home and rest. I imagine tomorrow will not be an easy day."

The dragons nodded in agreement, dispersing in separate directions. Volteer gently grabbed Flame and carried him to the nearest room, Ember following close behind. She looked back only once, tears welling in her eyes. Cynder gave her a reassuring look. A single tear rolled down Ember's cheek as she tried to smile back. She turned away quickly and ran after Volteer and Flame.

* * *

A completely restless night cursed Spyro with an unhealed stiffness all throughout his body. He reached for Cynder for comfort to find that she wasn't there. Frantically, he scanned the room, only to find her sitting in front of the window. The rising sun glimmered off her beautiful face, accentuating her wonderful features. Spyro gritted his teeth and rolled out of bed toward her.

He sat down beside her, speaking in a sleepy tone. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

Cynder only shook her head, urging Spyro to continue. "Me neither." Her silence started to tear at his core. "What are you thinking?" he asked as gently as possible.

She continued to stare out the window, clearly lost in thought. "I just keep thinking about how...the war was over. I mean it was _done_. For five wonderful years we got to live our lives the way _we_ wanted to. No one told us what to do or how much they needed our help saving the world. Now, not only do we have to continue fighting, I, once again, have to tap into the darkness that Malefor poisoned me to do back when I was his filthy little slave. It's not like I care about what happens to that Pillarian, but I'm not exactly _thrilled _to be interrogating him in such a dark way." Spyro made to speak, but Cynder put a wing tip to his mouth, cutting him off. "I _know_ I offered to do it," she said, her head sinking hopelessly, "but it was the only thing I could think to do to help."

Spyro exhaled, Cynder having answered exactly what he was going to say. He stared out the window, completely at a loss of words. He tried starting several thoughts but nothing came out. After a few long moments of silence, Cynder sighed and rested her head against his neck. Spyro draped his wing over her and pulled her closer.

"There _must_ be another way. They can't force you to do this," he finally said. "Maybe if we talked to…"

She turned to face him, her beautiful yet fierce emerald eyes locked with his, stopping his train of thought.

"No," she said determinedly. "I offered to do this, and I'm gonna do it. I guess I just needed to vent. Let's just…" She took a breath. "Let's just hope it's worth it." Spyro lay his head on hers for a moment before she headed toward the stairs. "Come on," she said, beckoning him to follow. Her determination never failed to amaze Spyro. He quickly joined her side.

Halfway to the temple, Cynder broke the silence. "How exactly is this going to go?"

Spyro sighed. "I have no idea. Dragons and a _Pillarian_ being in the same room without killing each other? _Talking_? This _never_ would have happened with the grublins."

"You think Ember did anything to him last night? Killed him in his cell?"

Spyro shook his head. "No, Spenna wouldn't have let her through. But I'm sure sleeping under the same roof was torture." Cynder only nodded.

The whole scenario haunted his mind. Even though the interrogation had been his idea, he almost wished Ember would've just killed him last night.

The doors of the temple snuck up on Spyro, tearing him from his thoughts. Before they went in, he turned to Cynder and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry about all of this, Cynder. I know it was my idea and I'm sorry if I was wrong, but it seemed like the only answer."

Cynder curled her tail around Spyro's and lay a paw on his shoulder. "I'm with you, Spyro."

Spyro gave a faint smile and they stepped through the doors. Ember and the Guardians were gathered in a semi circle around a singular chain link that had been bolted to the floor. Next to the Guardians sat Archdragon Erdamir.

"Archdragon Erdamir? What are you doing here?" Spyro asked as they joined the semi circle.

"The Guardians sent me a falcon last night requesting that I oversee the interrogation," he replied.

"We're glad you're here," Cynder added, earning a respectful nod from the archdragon.

"What's he like?" he asked no one in particular.

"As aggressive as any other Pillarian," Spyro replied.

Erdamir rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. I'm sure this will be a nice flight across the field."

"Like scolding a hatchling," Terrador joked.

Erdamir sighed. "If only it were that easy."

Heavy footsteps from the dungeon steps caught the attention of the semi circle. Like a looming shadow, the dark silhouette of Spenna appeared. Her yellow wings and underbelly luminating against the torches in the room, almost glowing against her black scales. As she stepped into the light, Spyro noticed that she held a chain in her claws. At the other end of the chain was Mage, bound at the wrists and dragging his feet reluctantly.

Mage had been stripped of his leather armor, now walking barefoot and only wearing tan pants, and a white tunic with the sleeves cut, likely by Mason to dress the wounds. Both of Mage's arms were covered in medical wrapping. On his neck were a few small squares of medical wrapping, where Ember's fangs had sunk through his neck.

Mason's bracelet was locked tightly around his left ankle. Spyro quickly noticed that Mage's lip was bloodied and a small bruise was marked under his eye. Spyro rose an eyebrow at the fresh wounds.

Spenna stopped in front of the semi circle, locking her end of the chain to the link in the ground.

"What happened here?" Volteer asked, gesturing at his face, referencing Mage's fresh wounds.

Spenna exhaled sharply through her nostrils. "He refused to come out of his cell, so I persuaded him."

Icy cold mist swirled from Cyril's nostrils in annoyance. Terrador nodded. "Thank you Spenna," he began. "We'll call you when we are through."

Spenna bowed her head once and disappeared down the dungeon steps. All attention turned to Mage. It seemed he was doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact with any of the dragons. His eyes never left the floor. A droplet of blood fell from his lip onto his bound hands.

Spyro felt as if he would crumble under the tension in the room. He felt as if he was being strangled.

After a few moments, Erdamir took a deep breath and broke the awful silence.

"State your name."

Mage refused to lift his eyes from the floor. He was a statue; a weak, rigid embodiment of ultimate defeat.

"State...your name," Erdamir repeated, his words cutting the air like sharp, jagged rocks.

Mage opened his mouth to silence before snapping it back shut. Archdragon Erdamir puffed out his chest and took one giant step in front of Mage, shedding light on just how puny he was. His head barely reached the top of Erdamir's foreleg. Mage looked up and inched backwards.

"I would advise you to cooperate...for your own sake," Erdamir stated, dignified but not without threat. The menace in Erdamir's voice sent a chill across Spyro's wings.

Mage swallowed his fear before finally speaking up. "Callum."

Callum. Mage finally had a name, and it was _Callum_. The Pillarian who'd almost killed two of his best friends, and all because Spyro had underestimated his power. Though Spyro knew better, the fact that Callum was chained to the ground, completely defenseless, tempted him to take matters into his own claws and end it himself.

Erdamir nodded and returned to the semi circle. Spyro gazed around and noticed everyone's moods painted on their scales. Ember looked about ready to unleash an inferno on Callum. Cynder looked ready to pounce the moment Callum tried anything.

"Do you have any idea as to why we may have brought you here?" Erdamir asked.

"You were bored and had nothing better to do?" Callum replied snarkily.

Archdragon Erdamir looked unphased, Callum's venom being melted away by the earth dragon's prowess.

"Hm, amusing, but no," Erdamir replied flatly. "You are here because you are our enemy. As our enemy, you possess valuable information. Information we _will_ get out of you whether you decide to give it to us willingly or not."

Spyro half expected Callum to cave, seeing as he was totally unmatched, but he was turning out to be a lot bolder than he expected. Either that or even more idiotic.

Callum merely scoffed. "You think I'm scared of you?"

"I can't imagine a creature of your stature being wise enough to be scared of me," Erdamir mused.

"Oh what the fuck is this?!" Callum protested. "You have your _pawns_ kill off everyone in my hunting party just to have me brought here and questioned? How about you get off your lazy tail and do your own dirty work? Yeah fucking right if you think I'll cave that easily."

Spyro's squinted his suddenly dry eyes as smoke grazed over them. He turned his head to Ember, who was on the verge of exploding after each word that came out of Callum's mouth. Smoke plumed out of her nostrils like a boiling volcano.

"It's really quite simple, Callum," Erdamir continued, brushing off his attacks. "You tell us what we want to know, and we let you live. Let's start with the obvious: why _exactly_ have your people been stealing our crystals?"

"Give it up, _scaly_," Callum hissed. "You'll have to kill me before I tell any of you motherfuckers anything."

"_Gladly_," Ember growled, her mouth glowing bright orange from the fire boiling in her throat. Callum jerked his head toward her.

"Oh, look who it is: the bitch who had my throat in her fucking jaws. How nice to see you again. Happy with the work you did here?" Callum taunted, holding up the arm she'd torn apart.

"Don't make me finish the job," she retorted. Her claws scraped against the stone floor, screeching a horrible noise through the air. Spyro thought he saw a twinge of fear in Callum before immediately shoving it back down.

"Ember, please," Erdamir piped up sternly.

"Yeah, shut it, _Ember_," Callum jeered. "What a pretty name for someone like _you_."

Spyro tried to shoot Cynder a look, but she'd already read his mind. Cynder had her paw on Ember's shoulder, ready to hold her back if she lost control.

"Enough," Erdamir bellowed. "Back to the matter at hand, Callum. We know your people don't benefit from using crystals, and you couldn't possibly steal enough from us in a few raids to do any considerable damage. So, what's the point?"

"I see the fear in your eyes, greenie," Callum stared. "You're lying to yourself. You're terrified, aren't you? Watching your crystal supply diminish raid after raid. I know how valuable they are to you dragons, how you won't be able to heal without them. Scary, isn't it? To watch your life source being sucked away."

Spyro's wings tensed. Listening to him was like listening to Malefor: manipulative, hateful, almost as if a dark aura was emanating around his body. It became more and more tempting to silence him, but Spyro reminded himself of Callum's importance.

"I see," Erdamir hummed. "Perhaps another candidate will suffice for this interrogation. Spyro," Erdamir nodded at Callum, "slash his throat, please. And, try not to make a mess."

Spyro wasn't sure if Erdamir was serious or not but showing Callum any kind of hesitation was the last thing he wanted to do. If this was a scare tactic he had to be convincing. Without question, he started forward, flicking out his gleaming claws.

Callum's composure dropped from aggression to shock. "Wait, woah, woah, woah! What?! Hold on!" Callum backed away as far away from Spyro as his chain would let him, nearly backing into Cyril. A devious smile curled across Ember's face.

Spyro was nearly within reach to rake his claws through Callum's throat. Callum jerked his attention back to Erdamir. "Come on! You're just going to kill me?! After everything you did to bring me back to this shithole?!"

Erdamir shrugged, showing no sympathy for the helpless creature. "You talk, you live."

Spyro raised his claw ready to strike. At this point he truly had no idea if Erdamir really wanted him to kill him. He almost said something, but he knew if he dropped his guard Erdamir would lose his advantage over Callum. Just as he was about to strike, Callum caved.

"Alright, alright! I'll talk! For fuck's sake I'll talk!" he screamed. "Just get away from me, you purple demon!"

Spyro felt his stomach drop, he'd nearly killed him. Whether Erdamir had any idea if that would work or not, Spyro felt a twinge of admiration for Erdamir's foresight. He turned away from Callum, relieved to avoid the bloodshed.

"You're all fools, you know that? Bloody fools. You don't even understand what you are, _Spyro_," Callum bellowed. Spyro didn't turn to face him, merely stopping in his tracks. "You pretend to be an ally to these withering souls, but you're not the _savior _of the Dragon Realms, you're a _purple _dragon: the spawn of Malefor himself and all the wicked purple dragons before him. You may have saved the world once, but you're still young. Even Malefor was good once. We Pillarians do a lot of reading. Face it, Spyro. Pretty soon, the nature of the purple dragon will consume you. Centuries of evil purple dragons and you're _somehow_ the first purple dragon to become a hero? That's absolute bullshit."

Spyro felt as if his heart had just been torn open, he felt nauseous, terrified. He hadn't considered the nature of his scale color to truly be a threat to those around him in years. Ignitus had always been able to see past Spyro's scales into the heart that lie within him. He felt his insides quivering. He knew who he was. He would never go down the same path Malefor did. He knew who he was, didn't he?

The more Spyro tried to convince himself, the less he believed he had truly chosen to be good. Was he truly a hero after all the beings he'd slaughtered throughout the years of war? Questions piled up in his mind, tearing down everything he thought he knew about himself. It took every ounce of strength to appear as if he'd brushed off Callum's words.

"You won't be able to stop yourself from craving more and more power. You'll kill each and every one of these miserable _dreks_. Even those closest to you," Callum said, almost whispering the last sentence.

He was just about to retort when a bellowing roar came from Ember.

"I can't take this anymore!" she screamed. She reared back her neck as a bright orange glow emanated from her maw.

"Ember, no!" Cynder shrieked. Just as Ember released her inferno, Cynder grabbed her head and her focus away from Callum. Spyro had to duck under the flames as they shot over the top of his horns. The flames died shortly after, but the fury in Ember only grew.

"You do _not_ talk about my friends that way, you hear me?! You worthless _skhint_! I swear I will kill you when this is all over! I'll kill you for what you did to Flame! I'll claw your eyes out!"

Callum snorted. "You have no idea who you're messing with, _drek._ You took me down once because I was outnumbered. You take me on again and it'll look a bit more like _this_!" Callum raised his hands and aimed at Ember, tensing them the same way he had when he'd ignited them the day before.

Spyro moved to shield Ember when all of a sudden an ear-splitting crack sounded throughout the hall. Callum let out a piercing shriek and dropped to the floor in agony, unable to clutch his body because of his bonds.

Spyro couldn't wrap his mind around what had just happened until he noticed smoke rising from Callum's ankle bracelet. Mason's invention had worked perfectly.

Ember's cursing tore Spyro away from his awe. Her tail blade lashed frantically, nearly grazing Cynder's back legs. Cynder held her back with every ounce of her strength.

"Ember, that is enough!" Erdamir roared. "We _cannot _keep having these outbursts. Volteer, please take her outside."

"Right away, Archdragon," Volteer replied. He hurried to Ember's side, practically tearing her toward the door. "Come along, little one."

She shoved his paw off her, fuming with rage. "I don't need an escort," she bellowed. She shot one last glare at Callum before ruffling her wings and stomping out the doors of the temple, guided by a nervous Volteer.

The doors shut to an anxious room. This was not going as smoothly as Spyro's wishful thinking had hoped. Callum rose to his feet, his legs shaking under his weight. Spyro could only imagine how painful the shock was just from how loud the sound had been.

"Callum, crystals. My patience is spent, and I'm sure I don't need to remind you what's at stake here." Erdamir had never dropped his dignified demeanor, but a glimmer of frustration sank into his voice.

Callum peered nervously over at Spyro, his shoulders sagged in discomfort. "_Fine_. You want the truth? I don't know, okay? I _don't_ know. We were told to steal your crystals so Mo-" he hesitated for a moment, "our leader...had everything they needed."

"Needed for what?" Erdamir nudged.

"How should I know?" Callum piped up. "I'm just a pawn in this fucking war. You think they'd tell me anything about what was in the book-" Callum stopped, his eyes widened in fear. Spyro guessed he'd said too much.

"What book?" Erdamir was growing impatient. He extended his wings gloriously, Callum sinking under his mighty wingspan.

Spyro noticed Callum's hand shaking, he wasn't supposed to say whatever he'd just said.

"I-I don't know," Callum filled in quickly, his voice cracking. "I never saw it."

Spyro had a sneaking suspicion that was a lie. So did Cynder by the skeptical look on her face.

Erdamir only nodded. "I see. Well, we'll have Cynder take a look at that."

Callum scoffed. "Fuck. You. Fuck _all _of you _dreks_. I hope you know they'll kill me for what's happened here."

"There's no need to worry about that, you won't be going back to Pillasia," Erdamir replied simply.

Callum jumped. "What? I gave you what you wanted! You said if I talked then-"

"I said you'd live if you talked," Erdamir replied plainly. "I never said we'd let you go. It's clear you don't understand your role in this game, _Pillarian_. You're our prisoner now, and you will continue to give us every bit of intel we need. Understand?" He didn't wait for a response. "Now, we're done here." He nodded to Terrador.

"Spenna!" Terrador called. Callum looked around the circle frantically. A useless attempt to get support from his enemies.

Spenna emerged hardly five seconds after she was summoned. Terrador turned to her. "Lock him back up. We need to discuss a few things." Spenna bowed her head and unlocked the chain from the ground.

Spenna tugged at the chain aggressively, throwing Callum off balance as he was jerked forward. "Come on, you little s_khint_," Spenna growled. Callum trudged behind Spenna, catching Spyro's eye for a split second. A second filled with malice. Spyro felt a fire igniting in his soul.

Callum was worse than he ever could have imagined. He didn't want Cynder to have to deal with him after the way he'd gotten to both him and Ember. What would he say to Cynder? Surely he knew of her past that he'd undoubtedly try to use against her.

As Callum and Spenna disappeared down the dark stone steps, Spyro turned his attention back toward the semi circle. The room was painted with mixed feelings. Cynder dropped the act and looked beyond anxious. Terrador and Cyril looked about ready to tear down a brick wall. Erdamir had his eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths.

Erdamir eventually broke the silence. "I have not spoken to someone so malicious since the days of Malefor."

"I have never heard _anyone_ speak in such a profane manner," Cyril added. He held a claw to his forehead, fighting off a migraine.

Terrador looked over at Cynder. "Cynder, you're the only one who will be able to find out if he's lying or if there is more he isn't telling us. Are you willing to take him under your claws?"

Cynder took a deep breath. "Yes." Spyro was shocked, he was hoping she'd back out at this point.

Spyro laid a claw on Cynder's shoulder. "Cynder, you can't! He's an animal!"

"Spyro, we just had our first true conversation with a Pillarian apart from battle. If all of the Pillari are like what we just saw, and if I can do something about it, I'm going to do it. I don't want them infecting the Dragon Realms anymore than they already have."

"You're sure about this?" Spyro asked, praying to the ancestors they'd find another way.

Her emerald eyes stared right into his heart. "I'm sure, and I want you in the room with me just in case."

"In case of what?" Cyril asked impatiently.

Cynder looked up to him confidently. "Trust me."

Spyro brushed his wing against hers and nodded. Cynder returned a small smile.

Terrador cleared his throat. "Take him to the interrogation chamber. You're free to act as you see fit." Cynder nodded. She seemed more sure of herself now, having gained confidence since the last time she spoke with Spyro on the subject.

"Whenever you're ready, Cynder," Erdamir said. Cynder looked to Spyro. He took a deep breath and gave her a nod that told her he was with her.

"I'm ready," Cynder said, determined. "Bring him back up."

* * *

**Thank you all for checking out my story. If you enjoyed what you read, please hit that FAVORITE and FOLLOW button to let me know my story is being received positively. In addition to this, I encourage you to leave a comment as I would love to hear your thoughts both positive and negative. I want this story to be as strong as possible, so all constructive criticism is encouraged. **

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	5. Five

**Voilà, chapter five has dropped. Thank you all for your support throughout this passion project of mine. **

**DISCLAIMER: Mature content/language. Dark themes are presented within this chapter. **

**A big thank you to SKdaGamer for continuing to refine my story.**

**Onward!**

* * *

"Thank you, Spenna. I'll take it from here," Cynder said over her shoulder. She watched Callum like a hawk, her talons flexing as Spenna removed his cuffs.

With Callum's hands free, Spenna bowed once again, then exited the interrogation chamber, electricity thundering through her eyes as she left.

The room went cold. The brutal silence gnawed at them. Spyro caught himself anxiously shifting his weight while Callum eyed the room nervously, swallowing his fear and rubbing his bruised wrists from the cuffs.

The air was pricked with an eerie chill, stained with the memories of agonizing screams from helpless prisoners. On the walls hung morbid instruments of torture: saws in every shape and size, scissors for cutting off ears, fingers and the like, and even clamps that could crush dragon bones.

In the center of the room sat a chair: an ordinary chair by its initial appearance, though with some of the finest restraint engineering thanks to the skill of the moles. Once a prisoner was bound to the chair, no amount of squirming could loosen the bindings.

Cynder had her eyes locked onto Callum, sizing him up. Standing just below her eye level, Callum avoided her gaze, no doubt trying to ignore the fact that he was at her mercy.

"Sit," she ordered coldy. Callum eyed the chair then opened his mouth to say something. Cynder took one step toward him and he snapped his mouth shut almost instantly. Shooting a small glare at Spyro, Callum made his way to the chair and sat reluctantly, a heavy, exasperated sigh escaping his lungs.

Cynder fastened the leather straps around his wrists as tightly as she could, then did the same with his ankles. Spyro noticed with relief that Callum's ankle bracelet was still on-the real reason he was so defenseless.

"Freeze his restraints," she instructed Spyro. Spyro made an inquisitive look, wondering why freezing was necessary with the impenetrable restraints. Cynder only stared, giving a nod so small Spyro almost missed it.

As Spyro made his way to Callum, Cynder allowed her tailblade to scrape across the ground slowly, sending a horrible noise tearing through the air. Callum winced at the sound, thin furrows appearing around his eyes. Spyro held back a wince as well, the scraping sound an ominous warning of the inevitable havoc that was about to ensue.

Spyro felt a cold chill swirl through his lungs before unleashing a focused blizzard of ice breath first over Callum's hands. Callum jolted as the cold shock hit him. Shallow, panicked breaths escaped his lungs through gritted teeth. Quickly, Spyro did the same to Callum's ankles. Callum's face turned pale, almost purple, and contorted to reflect his pain.

"Holy-sh-shit!" he gasped. His chest pumped rapidly. "Tha-t burns, you p-purple _dre-ek_!"

Cynder slowly approached Callum like a lingering storm. Callum's eyes pierced through arched brows, trying to look intimidating, though his current predicament made him harmless. Spyro noticed him ever so slightly inching back in his chair the closer Cynder got.

"I imagine seeing all the stuff on the walls makes you a bit nervous," Cynder stated, sounding as if she were merely interviewing him.

"Actually, not at all. You don't have th-thumbs, drek, so I imagine you c-can't use a single one of those t-tools," Callum replied snarkily. Spyro almost couldn't discern if it was the ice that was throwing Callum's speech off or his fear.

Cynder grinned sarcastically. "You were obviously the funny one back in Pillasia. That sound about right?"

Callum let out one weak laugh. "Listen here, miss dragoness, there's nothing you can p-pull that will surprise m-me. Claws, elements? I've seen it a-all from you dreks. This ain't my first rodeo, scaly. You won't be able to make me t-talk." Spyro noticed a hint of doubt in Callum's tone before he immediately shoved it down.

"Yeah? You wanna bet?" Cynder retorted confidently. "I'm not sure how Pillarians conduct their interrogations, but I guarantee you have _no _idea what _I'm_ capable of."

Callum swallowed down the rest of his cold shock, eyeing her confidently. "You think I'm scared of you?" Callum chuckled in between his painful winces. "I know who you are...you're Malefor's _pet_."

Spyro's blood went cold. The room seemed to freeze. _No one_ had insulted Cynder's ties to Malefor in _years_. Spyro wanted so desperately to get Cynder away from Callum and shield her behind his wings, but he had to let her do this. What choice did they have? He could almost see her blood boiling as she clenched her claws and bared her fangs. In an explosion of fury, she slashed him hard across the face, drawing three bloody claw marks from his temple across his nose and lip, nearly blinding his right eye.

Callum gasped, holding back his pain and chuckling through watery eyes and gritted teeth. "Kinda funny how easily you walked away from Malefor. How long before you get bored of Spyro? Ya know, you seem to have a thing for purple dragons."

Spyro trembled with a rage he had never felt. He looked down at his clenched claws and noticed a few of his scales shifting to the familiar foggy black. His stomach dropped at the sight. Quickly he breathed deep, trying to keep his inner darkness submerged. He knew Callum's useless taunts were only making it worse for himself. He couldn't let him get under his scales or he knew Cynder would never get anything out of Callum.

Nevertheless, Cynder noticed Spyro's tension. The small groups of his scales starting to darken and the smoke rising from his nostrils was a dead giveaway. Through the smoke billowing around his eyes, Spyro managed to catch a glimpse of those mystical emerald eyes. That look he'd seen so many times in battle: the look that told him, "I've got this. Trust me." Spyro knew better by now than to doubt Cynder's ability, but how badly he wanted to rip Callum's face off was almost unbearable. With a few more deep breaths, the scales which had just been fading away returned to their shimmering purple color.

Cynder broke her gaze away from Spyro and spread her wings wide, making herself appear a giant to Callum. "You've demonstrated a high amount of pain tolerance, Callum. Very impressive. Pain doesn't seem to break you down as easily as others. But, everyone has different weaknesses; everyone has a different amount of tolerance for each kind of pain: physical, mental, spiritual… If there's one thing I learned while I was…'Malefor's pet', as you called me, there are many other ways of breaking someone." The malice in her voice would've sent even Malefor flying away with his tail between his legs.

"Bring it on, _drek_," Callum growled. The aggressive wall became more and more obvious to Spyro. Callum was terrified, but he wasn't going to let anyone see that.

"Tell me, Callum: how does it feel?" Cynder asked, so matter-of-factly it was almost sadistic.

Callum raised a bloody brow. His face was bleeding profusely from the slash Cynder had marked him with, looking like a bloody map of the rivers of the Dragon Realms.

"How does it feel knowing you're the most sorry excuse of creature?" Cynder continued. Spyro noticed Callum's nostrils flair. "Does it scare you, Callum, to know that all your efforts of being brave, all your efforts to survive in this world...are useless?"

"Shut-" Callum tried to bite back before Cynder quickly cut him off.

"You know, I find it funny Callum," Cynder circled him as she spoke, "how something as _pathetic_ and as _insignificant_ and _worthless_ as you would fight _this_ hard to survive. I've seen creatures that easily outshine you give up far before their misery got ahead of them. But you," she stopped in front of him, poking a claw at his chest, "you just keep fighting. And for what? So you can live on, trudging through the hopeless mess of a life you live? There must be something you care about that's making you fight this hard. Or..._someone_?"

That struck a chord with Callum. An anger like Spyro had never seen washed over Callum's face.

"_Watch it_," Callum growled in voice Spyro never thought possible from a human.

Cynder hummed. "So, that's it, isn't it? You think you're important to them, whomever they are. Tell me, Callum, where's your search party? If you truly were _that_ important they'd have sent all of Pillasia looking for you. Seems to me you're pretty..._expendable_. Almost..._forgotten_." She looked right into his eyes at the last word. Quick flashes of shadow sparked across her scales as she continued to torment him.

"_Stop!_" Callum screamed. Thrashing his body to try and break the restraints. Thin red streaks scratched through his skin where the sharp edges of the ice were cutting him.

"How disappointed they must be in you, Callum. A human with considerable magic abilities and so much potential..._wasted_. How would they feel if they knew it was _you_ who'd failed to save the other members of your hunting party?"

Callum screamed. "Shut the _hell_ up, you _beast_!" His eyes were coated in a glossy mist.

"You let seven people die. _Seven_. Seven lives lost because of your _failure_." Dark wisps of shadow hovered from Cynder's maw on the last word. "Hear me, Callum. You're a _failure_. A _waste_ of life. If I were to kill you now, I'd be doing the Dragon Realms a favor."

Callum snarled behind teary eyes. "Then do it, you _coward_."

"And put you out of your misery?" Cynder asked. "No, Callum. That's not why you're in this room. This is not a 'mercy' chamber, this is an 'interrogation' chamber. Now, I am more than happy to prolong this emotional torture for you, or we can cut to the chase. You can make something of your _miserable _life and tell us what we need to know. You've already disappointed your entire race by allowing yourself to be captured, so there's no sense thinking you're betraying them anymore than you already have."

"I didn't _betray_ them! You _kidnapped _me and _slaughtered _my friends!" Callum roared. Spyro thought he was going to rip his arms off from how much he was tugging at his restraints.

Cynder laughed. "Friends? Gee, I don't know, Callum. Friends look out for one another. Sure doesn't seem like you did a very good job looking out for them."

Spyro could have sworn he saw Callum's lip trembling. Cynder was breaking him down easier than the entire dragon council had.

Callum managed to hold his composure. "I swear to you, _drek_, if I wasn't tied down-"

"You'd what, Callum?" Cynder cut him off. "You're powerless; even more so with that ankle bracelet."

Callum opened his mouth but no sound came out. He eyed the floor, avoiding her gaze.

Cynder smiled triumphantly. "Now that we understand one another, let's talk, shall we? You're going to answer my questions. And, if you don't? Believe me, you haven't won. I'll get what I need out of you one way or another."

"Yeah? And how are you going to do that if I don't talk, scaly?" Callum asked bitterly.

"I have a feeling you'll find out soon enough, since you've been noncompliant thus far. But, I'm certainly not a believer in first impressions, so I'll give you another chance." She circled back and got as close to him as she could without touching him. He shifted back nervously. "_Tell me about the book and the crystals, Callum_," she whispered in his ear, almost too quietly for Spyro to hear.

Callum hummed. "You know I've seen a lot of books and crystals in my life. Which ones are you referring t-"

Cynder punched him hard in the stomach, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Callum coughed and gasped for breath from the brutal blow.

She smiled, pleased with herself. "Cute, Callum. Very cute. But, not what I'm looking for. You want to drag this out? That's fine with me. Just know the longer this goes on the worse it's going to get for you." Cynder inspected her claws, almost admiring their lethality. "Book and crystals, little one."

Callum barely managed to spit out words. "Nice punch, though your form could use a little work-"

Cynder slashed him again, this time across this chest, tearing through his shirt and slicing his skin. He let out another cry.

Cynder eyed him confidently. "Clearly that question is a bit too complex for someone as unintelligent as you. So how about this: why were you hunting in the Avalarian Forest? Pillasia is well over a week's walk away."

Callum laughed painfully. "Thought we'd go exploring a bit. The Avalarian Forest is beautiful this time of year, you know?" he replied snarkily. He winced, expecting another blow from Cynder.

Cynder only stared at him. The look on her face was one of the most ominous looks he'd ever seen on Cynder. Spyro knew Callum had demolished any chance for mercy at this point. He could tell Cynder had had enough.

Without averting her gaze, Cynder opened her maw, just enough to let a thin trail of fear wisp out.

The fear twirled through the air and faded right into Callum's head. Almost immediately, Callum snapped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. No doubt fighting off a swarm of horribly haunting visions.

"Book and crystals, Callum," Cynder whispered once more.

"No. Stop!" Callum cried. Shaking his head to escape the madness in his head. "I won't talk! I won't!"

Cynder hovered over him and firmly grasped his throat. Spyro knew one twist could kill Callum in an instant.

"No! Get away!" Callum shouted at the visions, being amplified by Cynder's grasp.

"Give in," Cynder whispered menacingly.

Callum tried to thrash but was easily held down by Cynder. "No! I don't know! I don't know anything! Leave me alone!"

Cynder tightened her grasp. "You know, Callum."

"It's just a book! Any ordinary book! We just use the crystals for currency!" Callum cried.

Cynder threw him back to let him suffer through the visions and quickly made her way to Spyro's side. She pulled him in with her wing, trying to drown out Callum's mumbling.

"I have to take this as far as I can. He's persistently stubborn," Cynder whispered.

"What do you need from me?" Spyro asked, looking toward Callum who had his eyes clenched shut.

"I'm going to look into his mind, so you _have _to keep him conscious or this won't work," she said simply. Spyro's eyes widened in confusion. "Just trust me." Cynder looked to the floor. "This is going to be agony for him."

Spyro guessed she felt a twinge of pity for Callum, as did Spyro. Yes, Callum was absolutely their enemy, but surely they could feel some amount of pity for another suffering creature. Spyro nodded as Cynder tucked her wing back in. The tiny amount of fear Cynder breathed onto Callum was wearing off quickly. Callum gave her a hard glare as she made her way back over to him.

"You're a _despicable _creature, Cynder. And you _failed._ _Nothing_ you do will get me to talk," Callum spat.

Cynder exhaled through her nostrils.

"You asked for this, Callum," Cynder said under her breath.

Callum made to say more but was cut off as Cynder reared back her head and released a dark mist of shadow that slowly slithered through the air toward Callum. The mist orbited around him, like a snake tightening around its prey. He eyed it warily. Spyro's scales felt like they were shrinking at the sudden drop in temperature in the room. He could see his breath whispering in front of him, like ominous white fog.

Callum's skin seemed to lose all its color under the temperature drop from the mist, adding to his already frozen ligaments.

"Wh-what th-the he-" was all he managed to choke out before Cynder grabbed the sides of his head with her front talons. The snakes of shadow exploded and filled the entire room with a dark cloud of shadow. Spyro could barely see the tip of his nose.

Spyro squinted through the haze and could only watch in horror as Cynder's beautiful emerald eyes melted away into shadowy blackness. Soulless and empty, ominously beating into Callum's soul. That same moment, all of Callum's composure was murdered, melting into Cynder's eyes. The look of sheer terror on his face made Spyro's stomach drop.

Every muscle in Callum's body convulsed. He writhed under Cynder's claws, trying to pull away from her. His face twisted in agony. Cynder tightened her grip on Callum's head, the veins in his neck and forehead popping out of his skin.

He writhed and screamed in anguish. "Let go! Let go! Get out of my head, you _monster_!"

Cynder remained completely silent, an eerie spectre in the dark abyss. Spyro stared in disbelief at a once-confident Callum, now sobbing for mercy. Cynder had uncovered his true colors. Under the facade of aggression he put up, he was just as terrified as everyone suffering from the war.

The scene was mystical, like nothing Spyro had ever seen, especially from Cynder. He had seen Cynder fall back into her dark side only once during their confrontation with Malefor, but that was only for a moment. This was on a completely different spectrum. Spyro barely recognized her.

After what seemed like an eternity of misery, Callum's screams started to die down and his eyes began to sink. Spyro remembered what Cynder had told him. He had to keep Callum conscious. The pain was becoming too much for him.

Spyro immediately jumped into action and breathed some electricity into his paw. The energy sparked and zapped at the air. As quickly as he could, he placed his paw over Callum's heart, sending bright yellow volts through his whole body and snapping him back to a state of consciousness.

Callum's glossy eyes peered through clenched, pained lids. His face sullen, hopeless.

"Cynder…please...enough," he choked out, his voice nearly a whisper.

Spyro now felt he truly understood Cynder's full power. A power that easily rivaled his own. A magnitude of power he didn't realize she possessed. Either she was extraordinarily humble or he just hadn't paid close enough attention. They were without question equals. Though the circumstance was gruesome, Spyro felt a sense of closeness to Cynder, like he'd finally gotten a glimpse of all she could do with her dark, uncommon powers.

At Callum's plea for mercy, Cynder slowly released her grip on his head. The magnificent emerald color of Cynder's eyes faded back through the shadows, like the sun rising after the darkest of nights. The mist faded away from the room and the temperature returned to normal. Callum coughed and gasped for breath, leaning over himself with tears pouring out his eyes.

Cynder stepped away from Callum toward the other end of the room. Spyro quickly joined her. Her eyes pleaded for reassurance they'd done the right thing. Spyro nodded once. Cynder sighed through her nostrils, her wings relaxing and draping gently over her sides.

"Spenna!" she called suddenly. The door to the interrogation chamber swung open almost instantly to reveal the looming yellow and black dragoness looking ready for a fight. "Take him back down to his cell. And tell the others I need to speak with Spyro for a moment." Spenna nodded and lumbered over to Callum, electricity zigzagging through her vibrant scales.

Spyro noticed the ice still encasing Callum's wrists and ankles and breathed a quick burst of fire over them. Callum jerked back as the fire grazed his skin. The ice melted in an instant, watering the smooth stone floor. Spenna unfastened his restraints then quickly replaced them with the familiar iron cuffs before she dragged Callum to his feet. In Spenna's talons, Callum's arms looked like toothpicks to the full-grown dragon. Callum's legs buckled the moment he put weight on them, barely catching himself on his hands as he crumbled to the floor with a weak groan.

"Get up," Spenna commanded. Her words were harsh, not showing a glimmer of sympathy. Sparks shot between her teeth as she spoke.

Callum managed to get on one knee but could rise no further. Spenna snorted impatiently and once again tugged him to his feet.

"Up, I say!" Spenna bellowed.

Limping slowly, and with the occasional shove from Spenna, Callum made his way to the door. Almost there, he stopped suddenly, pausing briefly next to Spyro.

Callum took a deep breath. Without meeting Spyro's gaze, he whispered so softly Spyro had to lean in.

"It doesn't matter what she saw. You can't save us. Not this time."

Spyro raised an eyebrow and made to respond, but was interrupted when Spenna loomed toward Callum like an electric tower.

"Keep moving, _skhint_! I advise you _not _to test me."

Callum looked ready to pass out, too weak to even glare back at the monstrous lightning dragon behind him. With painful winces, he dragged his feet out of the room without another word. Spenna shut the door, leaving Spyro to ponder all that had just occurred. Cynder deflated, sitting down and clutching her head achingly.

Callum's final words resonated in Spyro's head, the cryptic message troubling him from every angle. He shook himself out of it and inched closer to Cynder.

"Are you okay?" he asked, draping a wing over her. "Did you see anything?"

Cynder nodded her head once. "Yeah, I did." Spyro remained silent, allowing her the chance to work through her thoughts. She opened her mouth, though no sound came out.

"Start from the beginning," Spyro said softly, seeing her struggling.

She took a deep breath. "Well...it was difficult to see at first. No surprises there. When someone is naturally vicious it often makes it difficult to see through their cloud of hatred," Cynder began. Spyro listened intently. "But then, there was this...figure-this stalking presence in his mind."

"Another Pillarian?"

"I'm pretty sure it was human, so maybe," Cynder replied. "But it was weird. The more I looked around, the more I noticed it around every corner, like it was haunting Callum's mind." Cynder took a deep breath.

"What is it like, when you look into someone's mind?" Spyro asked, cocking his head to the side.

Cynder left Spyro's side and began to wander around the room slowly. "How can I explain this…" she spoke under her breath. "Imagine your mind being like an endless plain, filled with thoughts and memories as far as the eye can see. Some things are easy to make out-things that greatly impacted someone's life, for example-then some things are blurry, way off in the distance." She made a sweeping motion with her paw. "This can be because memories naturally fade-or someone is trying to forget them."

Spyro nodded, trying to keep up.

She stopped and turned back to him. "In Callum's case, this figure that I saw looming in his mind was a part of _everything_. Obviously Callum has this person on his mind a lot, but I'm not so sure if that's a good or bad thing for him."

"Could you make out any details? Anything to tell who it was?" Spyro asked.

Cynder nodded her head. "Sort of. There was-"

Cynder yelped as the door slammed against the wall, Spyro felt a jolt through his body at the sudden outburst.

"Are you two quite finished? _We_ would like to be a part of this meeting if you _don't_ mind," the unforgettable, irritable voice of Cyril spoke.

Cynder groaned in irritation, giving Spyro a frustrated look. "Yeah, sorry, come in," she replied, annoyance underlying her invitation.

Cyril was followed by the other dragons of the council. Even Ember, who'd seemingly calmed down since her latest eruption, walked in alongside Volteer. Say what you will about Volteer's yammering, but that dragon knew how to diffuse any situation with mindless chatter.

Erdamir gave Spyro and Cynder an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to cut you off, but this matter concerns all of us, not just the two of you."

"Understood," Spyro nodded.

"All we heard was screaming. Callum, I presume?" Terrador asked gruffly. Cynder nodded blankly. He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "All of that aside, we need to know if you've found anything."

Cynder cleared her throat. "Yes, I did. I was just about to share it with Spyro."

"Go ahead then, Cynder. Oh, please don't make us wait any longer, we must know of your findings!" Volteer spoke like a hatchling who had just discovered its element, bouncing up and down as his voice rose in excitement.

"The clearest thing I saw was this dark, looming figure. He seemed to be everywhere in Callum's mind, almost like he was haunting him. Spyro guessed it was another Pillarian, but I'm not entirely sure," Cynder responded.

"Can you describe him? Anything that made him stand out?" Terrador asked.

"Well," Cynder began pacing again. "It wasn't clear enough for me to see the _really _small details, but the figure was definitely holding a book."

"A book? What kind of book?" Cyril asked, leaning in a bit closer in anticipation.

"Could it be the one Callum accidentally mentioned?" Ember asked, inspecting her tailblade.

"It could be, but I'm not sure. There's obviously too many books in the world to know for sure," Cynder shook her head, "but the figure had it tucked against it everywhere I saw it standing."

"Go on…" Erdamir encouraged. Spyro feared Cynder would shrink under the pressure of everyone dawning on her, but she stood tall.

"Every time I got close it would fade away. But from what I could see, it was a pretty thick book-looked pretty worn down too. And the cover had like...maybe a hammer on it? Or something to that effect." Cynder squinted her eyes to the ceiling, trying to recall the details. In a flash she flared her wings. "Oh! There was a little green crystal on top of whatever the hammer-like object was."

Time stood still. The Guardians froze in place, their eyes widening in shock. Spyro could faintly hear the wind whistling outside against the dead silence.

"A hammer...you said a _hammer _with a _green crystal_ on top of it." Erdamir spoke with nervous urgency in his voice. "Are you _absolutely_ certain that's what you saw?"

"As certain as I can be, why?" Cynder asked curiously.

Erdamir gave the Guardians a dreadful look. Fear washed over his face. Cyril cursed under his breath, turning away from the group furiously.

Erdamir stressfully exhaled through his nostrils. "What you have just described matches the description of Gnasty Gnorc's lost journal. Whoever this figure is has gained access to all of Gnasty Gnorc's work."

"Who's Gnasty Gnorc?" Ember asked. Spyro and Cynder nodded, the name being unfamiliar to them.

"He's long dead now," Terrador began. "But, he was a horrible tyrant that lived back when all of us were just hatchlings, long before any of you were alive."

"He was the most ruthless being Avalar had seen in centuries," Volteer explained, unable to hide the fear in his eyes.

"What exactly did he do?" Spyro asked.

Terrador sighed. "Gnasty Gnorc spent his entire life learning to corrupt the crystals that give our kind power. From a lifetime of research, he figured out a way to turn our crystals into minions for his undeserved climb to power."

"What kinds of minions?" Cynder asked, the interest growing in her voice.

"Gnasty Gnorc was quite narcissistic, so many of the minions he created were modeled after his hideous figure. On top of that, _thousands_ of horrible creatures like dragon-eating plants and dogs straight out of the fiery underworld." Erdamir gazed solemnly into the distance. "Nearly took Avalar away from the dragons when he trapped more than half of us in crystal."

"How did you beat him?" Cynder asked.

The Guardians made eye contact once again. "We didn't," Terrador sighed. "Malefor did."

Spyro stepped back in shock.

"_Malefor_?" Spyro's voice rose. "_Malefor_ saved _the Dragon Realms?"_

Terrador nodded his head and sighed. "I'm afraid so-it was part of the reason he went down the path he did. It only fueled his arrogance, being the young purple dragon that saved our world. But...that's beside the point. This figure that Cynder saw in Callum's mind has found Gnasty Gnorc's lost journal, where he's rumored to have written all of his findings regarding the corruption of crystals."

"So this figure now has this knowledge? The kind of knowledge that could wipe us out?" Spyro asked frustratingly. No one answered, silence being enough proof of Spyro's question. Spyro clenched his claws and bared his teeth. "I need to find whoever this is! I can't let this happen again!" Spyro's voice cracked as his fear of failure began to overwhelm him.

Cynder draped a wing over Spyro, trying to calm him down. "_We_ will stop him, Spyro. _Together_. There's no need for you to try and do _everything_ alone." Spyro breathed heavily. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Ember stamped her paw into the floor. "How are we supposed to stop this figure if we don't have a clue who they are? We don't know where they are, what they look like…" Her words trailed off.

The room went silent. The situation was as hopeless as it sounded. They had no ground. No information to narrow their search.

Then, something hit Spyro.

Spyro turned to Erdamir. "Didn't you say earlier this week that the Pillarians have been stealing crystals?" he asked. Erdamir nodded, a pleased look creeping across his face. "And Cynder, that figure in Callum's mind-it was blurry, but you could at _least_ tell they were human, right?"

Cynder nodded her head. "My best guess would be that they were human, yes. Definitely not a grublin or anything like that."

Spyro turned back to the rest of the group. "You don't think that maybe that figure could've been…"

"The leader of Pillasia…" Ember finished. The room went silent once more, the puzzle seemingly having been solved.

"The Pillarians have uncovered the secrets of Gnasty Gnorc," Volteer spoke to himself, disbelief growing in his voice. "I bet _that's_ why we've never seen their leader, sitting alone in his or her chamber for three years studying that awful journal."

"Coward," Cyril fumed, baring his teeth, "hiding in safety while we are all out here fighting their filthy pawns. How fitting that murderers are being ruled by a _coward_." Frost breath curled around his snout.

"What are we supposed to do?" Cynder asked, sinking her head to the ground in disbelief.

Erdamir shook his head. "I don't know. We have yet to see any dark, foreign creatures, but who knows how much time we have? I suggest that whatever we decide to do, we act quickly. Did Callum say anything more after Cynder was finished?"

Cynder looked to Spyro, who escaped into his head once more. He felt a lump in his throat, Callum's cryptic words crawled back into his mind.

"No...no he didn't," Spyro lied. Cynder appeared unphased, though Spyro could read through her eyes. She knew he'd lied, but wouldn't dare say anything about it.

"Then there's nothing more we can do at this moment," Terrador began, "so I suggest we take some time to think about this." The room nodded in agreement.

Spyro turned to Erdamir. "What do we do about Callum?"

"Nothing will change. He's our prisoner, a highly valuable one now that we're sure he knows something. No one will touch him," Erdamir ordered, eyeing Ember who rolled her eyes. He groaned under his breath. "We will continue to interrogate him until he's told us everything."

"And then what?" Ember asked, eyeing her claws as if she was only paying half attention. Spyro guessed Ember was dreaming of the moment she'd slash Callum's throat with those claws the moment he was no longer of use. Though the more he thought about it, that would be too quick for Ember.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Erdamir replied. "For now, he's the key to turning this war around, and Cynder knows how to get it out of him."

Spyro immediately returned to the torment of all that had just occurred. The way Cynder had spoken with a poisonous tongue, devouring Callum's confidence like a snake. The way she'd left him hating himself, wallowing in his worthlessness. Seeing the dragoness he loved fading away into darkness, into someone he couldn't even recognize. He prayed to the ancestors he would never have to see that again. He puffed out his chest.

"No," Spyro spoke boldly. All eyes turned to him. "None of you know what I saw here. The way we handled this situation came too close to how Malefor would've handled it. You want an aggressive interrogation? Fine. But we made Cynder abuse her dark side, something she's chosen to abandon. It's not right of us to ask her to tap into her past like that."

Spyro realized he was now standing in front of her, shielding her with his form. Protecting her was the most important thing to him-and how natural it had become. Though, in most cases, Cynder never needed his protection. But this was different. He felt obligated to step in. Cynder had been backed into a corner with no escape. He had to prevent her from becoming merely a tool for the council.

"I'm sorry to correct you, my boy," Volteer began, "but young Cynder here _volunteered_ to proceed with the interrogation. We certainly did not force this on her."

"That's because it's _Cynder_," Spyro emphasized. Frustration began to boil in him. "She would do _anything_ to help our own. But this is _too far_. Look, I understand the whole 'desperate times' thing, but don't make Cynder embody the 'Terror of the Skies' for this."

Cynder lowered her gaze to the floor. Erdamir noticed this and exhaled through his nostrils. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Spyro looked around the room, all attention was on him. He looked back to Cynder, who raised her eyes to him hopefully. Ancestors, those eyes-he couldn't live with seeing disappointment in them. He couldn't let her down. He _had _to do something. Cynder had always managed to hold her head high in every situation, but he knew she was begging for an out. She _needed _an out.

Deep down, he wanted his own answers, like what Callum had meant by what he'd whispered to him. But there was no way he'd ever ask Cynder to use her powers like that again.

"Look…" he began, "I'm not against aggressive interrogation, being as he won't speak without it. So let _me_ handle it. Cynder has done enough."

"Spyro, with all due respect, have you ever interrogated anyone?" Terrador asked, raising a stern eyebrow.

"Well...n-no but-"

"And you expect us to put our most valuable source of information into your inexperienced paws?" Cyril asked.

_Inexperienced?! _Spyro screamed in his head. _He _cannot _be serious_. "No, it's-"

Erdamir raised his claw. "Spyro...your concern for Cynder is apparent and admirable. But, you have no experience with this sort of situation."

Spyro felt his heart beating in his chest. A wrenching feeling in his gut from the way he was being scolded like a hatchling.

_Inexperienced. You've got to be absolutely kidding me_. Spyro thought, feeling a headache begin to beat down on him.

"Cyril," Erdamir continued, "I would like for you to take a crack at Callum tomorrow morning, see if you can get anything out of him. Someone with your experience should have no problem making Callum talk. I agree with Spyro: we need to take the pressure off of Cynder." He nodded to her.

Cyril bowed his head. "As you wish, Archdragon."

Spyro felt the frustration inside of him continue to build. _Cyril? _he thought. _He wants _Cyril _to be the interrogator? _he fumed. To be condescended in front of the whole assembly was one thing. To be overshadowed by the most irritable dragon in Warfang was a far different matter. Spyro fought back a sneer.

Erdamir nodded. "Alright, now that that's settled, I suggest we conclude for the day." He turned toward Spyro and the two dragonesses. "I appreciate how willing you all have been to further our war strategy, but take the day off tomorrow and regain your strength. Things may get worse much sooner than we think."

Spyro hadn't even considered how exhausted he was. The battle in the Avalarian Forest, along with carrying Flame all the way back to Warfang, had completely drained him of his strength.

Spyro stifled his aggravation. "Understood. Thank you, Erdamir," Spyro bowed, the two dragonesses joined in. Together, they walked through the temple doors out into the blazing sun.

* * *

Spyro sat at the window, watching the shimmering stars of the ancestors and lost in a sea of thought. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Callum's final words to stop gnawing at him. Was he just manipulating him, or was it something more?

_No,_ Spyro thought. _He's a Pillarian. A _Pillarian_. His words mean nothing._

Cynder yawned as she joined him by the window. "Are you feeling alright?"

Spyro opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't put words behind what he was feeling. All he managed to choke out was, "I need to talk with him."

"Talk with who?" Cynder asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Callum," he muttered.

Cynder nodded, her eyes filled with curiosity. "He stopped by you-said something to you-didn't he?" she asked, implying she already knew the answer. Spyro only nodded. "Spyro, what did he say to you?"

Spyro hesitated before answering. "He said, 'It doesn't matter what she saw. You can't save us. Not this time'."

Cynder narrowed her eyes, shaking her head in bewilderment. "What in the name of the Chronicler is he talking about?"

"I don't know," Spyro sighed. "I can't figure it out."

Cynder shook her head. "Spyro, he was just trying to mess with you. Seems like he did a pretty good job too," she joked.

"But why?" Spyro turned to her. He spoke desperately. "Why did he say _us_? He didn't say _them_, like the people of Warfang. He said _us_. What is he saying? That he and I are equals?" Spyro's voice amplified. "No. He's a _Pillarian_, and there's nothing more to it. _Us?_ For grublin's sake, give me a break," he snarled.

Cynder laid both of her paws on his face and forced him to look into her calm, emerald eyes. "Spyro, I need you to _breathe._"

Spyro sighed and took a few deep breaths as she instructed.

"There we go," she nodded. "I know this is eating you alive, but I think you might be overthinking this."

He sighed an exasperated sigh. "Maybe…"

"I promise you everything is going to be okay," she said, nuzzling him a bit. He nodded in response, forcing a subtle smile. "Alright," she yawned, "I'm exhausted. I'll see you in the morning. Try not to stay up too long," she smiled, brushing her wing against the side of his face.

He watched her walk toward their bed. "Goodnight, Cynder. I love you." Spyro said over his shoulder.

She curled up in bed. "I know," she whispered faintly, toying with him. Almost on cue the relaxing sound of her steady breathing filled the room. Butterflies fluttered through him, hearing the familiar sound of her sleeping so peacefully, helping to ease his frustration-if only for a moment.

Spyro envied her. The past week had been gruelling, feeling like they had never gotten a chance to truly relax. Spyro wished he could fall asleep next to her, but his mind ceased to settle. It seemed as if he was going in circles. The more he focused on Callum, the more his head pounded.

Spyro held both paws to his head, trying to calm his splitting headache. Being called 'inexperienced' certainly wasn't helping either. That frustrated him to his core.

_Ancestors, I'm going to lose my mind. _

Spyro sat at the window for what felt like hours, haunted by his bewilderment. The vastness of the night sky made him feel small, as if the stars were judging him.

He couldn't take it anymore.

_I have to go see him. _He shook his head. _I _have _to know._

He glanced back at Cynder and quietly made his way over to her bedside. Admiring her relaxed form, he could almost hear her heartbeat. He nuzzled her once and she made a small humming noise before resuming her heavy breathing.

As silently as he could, he made his way down the steps, wincing at every creak of the carved wood. Finally reaching the door, he took a deep breath.

_Alright, here we go. _

Opening the door as slowly as he could, he made just enough space for him to pass through before turning around and guiding the door with his paw. The door made a soft clicking noise as it met the frame and Spyro turned toward the temple, being guided by the soft moonlight that illuminated the stone streets.

* * *

Spyro closed the door to the temple as delicately as he could to avoid waking the Guardians. It was unlikely they would hear the door as they were all asleep in their chambers, but he couldn't take any chances. Doing a quick sweep of the hall, the coast was clear and he made his way to the dark dungeon steps. They looked darker than they usually did. Spyro wasn't used to seeing the temple at night, when no sunlight shone into the magnificent chamber. Spyro got a chill down his spine as he traversed down the eerie pathway.

At the bottom of the steps, Spyro could barely even see Spenna. Her black scales blended into the darkness, softly illuminated by the two torches on the door. As Spyro approached her, Spenna raised an eyebrow.

"Spyro? What on earth are you doing here at this hour?"

Spyro remained quiet for a moment as he scrambled his mind for an answer. He hadn't actually considered the fact that he would be stopped by Spenna.

"I'm here to see Callum," he said plainly, earning a confused stare from Spenna.

"What for? Did the Guardians send you?" she asked.

"No." Spyro considered lying, but thought better of it. He needed Spenna's trust. "It's...personal."

Spenna remained silent for a moment before letting out an exhausted sigh. "Alright. Normally I wouldn't allow this. But because it's _you_, I can give you a few minutes." Spenna turned away from Spyro and opened the old wooden door. A creaking sound echoed all throughout the hall. "Just make it quick."

Spyro hastily made his way through the door and became enshrouded in darkness when Spenna closed the door behind him. As he carefully made his way through the dungeon hall, he felt terribly uneasy, like he would be attacked at any moment. For a moment, he even felt sorry for the prisoners, being forced to reside in darkness, their light confined to a few torches.

As he walked by the cells, he noticed that most of the prisoners were sound asleep. Those that weren't only stared as he walked by. Spyro desperately tried to avoid eye contact.

One cheetah reached out to him through the cell bars with his furry paw. "Spyro. Hey, Spyro," he whispered. "I know Hunter, he's a friend of mine. You two are close right? How's about gettin' me outta here?"

Spyro continued walking, never turning his gaze away from the dark path in front of him and shutting out the hushed pleas of the cheetah. His natural instinct was to help everyone he could, but he knew deep down there was a reason why that cheetah was in here. And in all honesty, he would rather not know.

When he finally reached Callum's cell, his blood froze, his paws became rooted to the ground in fear. He stared in terror at the empty cell.

Callum was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

**Thank you all for taking the time to read my story. If you enjoyed, you can let me know by hitting FAVORITE and FOLLOW. I encourage you to leave your feedback in the comments section. All positive and constructive feedback is appreciated as I want to make this story as strong as possible.**

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	6. Six

**Top of the morning to you all, or night depending on where you are situated. Chapter six has arrived, so I shall delay no further.**

**Onward!**

* * *

Spyro couldn't take his eyes off of the empty cell. It _had _to be the lighting, or lack thereof. He leaned in closer, reality haunting him to his fiery core. Callum had escaped and left behind an unlocked cell. Spyro lunged at the bars, wrapping his trembling talons around their wretched chill. His eyes frantically scanned the cell. His mind raced in a million different directions.

_It's impossible!_ he thought. _Spenna would _never _forget to lock a cell, especially one with a _Pillarian _in it. He _had _to have picked it somehow, but with _what?

Spyro's lip quivered incessantly, feeling the urge to punch the bars-a fight he knew he wouldn't win. Without a second thought, he succumbed, punching the bars as hard as he could. He immediately yanked his talon back and grasped it tightly, trying to subdue the small, painful whine building in his throat. As best he could, he ignored the pain and took a few running steps toward the dungeon entrance. His immediate response was to tell Spenna, though something caught his attention. A familiar scent he'd smelled far too many times.

Blood.

Where was it coming from? He followed the subtle smell as best he could, though it was so faint it was almost undetectable. The smell led him back to Callum's cell, urging him through the door. Spyro took a few, nervous steps into the cell and quickly noticed a small, dark lump in the corner he'd missed previously. Cautiously, he inched closer, breathing a small burst of flame to light up the cell.

In the corner lie a torn open rat, resting in a small pool of blood. The sight didn't shake Spyro in the slightest, having seen a bloody mess from every angle in recent years. Carefully picking it up, something immediately struck him as odd: the rat's neck was broken and it was missing two of its ribs.

Spyro inspected the rat closer, carefully observing its exposed ribcage. Something began to dawn on him as he glanced from the to the cell door.

It hit him like a cannonball.

_You've got to be kidding me. _

Smoke began to cloud from his snout around his eyes. Spyro threw the rat against the wall in frustration, making an unsettling squelching noise. Somehow, Callum had managed to lure a rat into his cell, then proceeded to break its neck and use its ribs as lockpicks. He must've broken the first one, which is why two of the rats ribs were missing.

Spyro was appalled. Callum was craftier than he'd suspected, only adding to how dangerous Spyro coined him as. Callum hadn't been lying during the interrogation: this wasn't his first time being locked up-a thought that was not comforting in the least. Callum could be a convicted murderer for all he knew.

The rat's blood was pretty fresh, not completely dry but certainly getting there. This had happened recently. _Really _recently.

_He couldn't have escaped that long ago. _Spyro ran a claw over his other foreleg, playing with an idea that immediately sounded too risky. _If I went after him myself...maybe I could catch him?_

He felt his heart beating in his chest, only adding to his anxiety. Should he tell Spenna? Should he secretly go after Callum alone? What about Cynder? He couldn't just leave without telling her. So many factors came into play. His head throbbed violently.

All at once, his inner voice was hushed, and the soft crackling of the dungeon torches became discernible once again. Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head and cracked his neck.

_I tell Spenna so no one thinks I helped him escape, then I go after him myself. _Spyro tromped confidently out of Callum's cell. _I can catch him, but Spenna needs to know. _

That powerful, draconic rage began building within him. He wanted answers, and nothing was going to stop him from getting them. The first question to answer: did the other prisoners know he was planning to break out? That would be answered soon enough.

"Spenna!" Spyro yelled, earning an annoyed groan from some of the inmates. Spyro snorted out some flame to shut them up.

Almost immediately the dungeon door burst open in a flash of crackling energy. "What, what is it?" Tiny crackles of lightning bolts danced up and down the door from Spenna's inburst.

"He's gone," Spyro said quickly, nodding to Callum's cell door. The shock had passed him at this point.

"_What?!"_ Spenna roared. Her scales shimmered with yellow fury as a ring of electricity shot out from her paws, crackling across the floor. "How?!" She lumbered quickly toward Callum's cell. As she witnessed its vacancy, she punched the bars the same way Spyro had, only this time the bars caved in as if they were made of butter. Clearly, iron bars were no match for a fully grown dragon.

"He picked the lock with a rat bone, I found it dead in his cell."

Spenna pounded her paw into the ground. Tiny rock fragments clouded around the impact. "_Curse the light of the ancestors!"_ she roared. In a wave of rage she bounded back toward the steps. "I must inform the Guardians!"

"Wait!" Spyro called, stopping Spenna in her tracks. "I'm going after him."

"Spyro-"

"No, listen!" Spyro flared his wings. "That rat was killed recently, I can tell by the blood. Callum can't be far. I can catch him if I go _now_."

"Go _where_, Spyro?" Spenna challenged. She stepped toward him, Spyro's size being realized. She towered over him. Even for a fully grown dragon her size was shocking. "You have nothing to go off of other than he wasn't in his cell. Where do you go from there?"

With a frustrated huff, Spyro turned back toward the cell of the contemptible cheetah. Puffing out his chest, he stomped his way over to bars, feeling as mighty as Ignitus. His confidence practically glimmered off of his scales. He stood proudly over the lowly cheetah, who was clasping the bars of his prison with his head down, shamefully. Upon Spyro's return, the cheetah looked up with a hint of confusion.

Before he could speak a word, Spyro punched his paw through the gap in the bars and grasped him by his boney throat, slamming his jail-ridden body against the cell door. The cheetah let out a small whimper, smashing into Spyro's mutual iron foe. The slam boomed throughout the dungeon.

Spyro pulled the cheetah as close to the bars as he could, almost suffocating him. The cheetah whimpered like a wee kitten, fear melting over his eyes. Spyro stared with piercing, violet eyes and gestured with his head, never averting his stare.

"See that cell down there?" Spyro growled. Icy mist clouded within his maw, his eyes turning ever bluer. The cheetah immediately followed Spyro's gaze, nodding frantically. "There was someone _very_ important in that cell. He picked his way out, and we need to know where he went. Mind telling me if you know anything about that?"

The cheetah shook his head, a light dusting of snow began to accumulate onto his snout from Spyro's jaws. "I don't even know who was in that cell. I don't know anything about his esca-" The cheetah's breath was cut short as Spyro tightened his grip around his throat. Once more, Spyro bashed the cheetah against the bars of his cell.

"Ya know, I _really_ don't like liars," Spyro growled darkly. The bars began to ice over as well. He grazed one of his razor sharp claws along the bar, making an awful scraping noise and sending bits of ice chipping off.

The cheetah clawed at his neck, desperately trying to break free. "I s-swear! I d-don't...kno- anythi-" he heaved as he could barely squeeze the words out. "A-all I heard w-was his c-cell door o-pen and th-en a loud s-slamming sou-nd."

Spyro held his glare for a few moments before finally releasing his suffocating hold on the cheetah. The weak, furry mass fell to the ground, grasping its throat with both paws and coughing maniacally.

Deep down in his heart, Spyro couldn't help but feel pity for the poor creature, maybe even a little guilty for being so hostile. But, Callum-likely the most dangerous prisoner in Warfang-had escaped. He had to stay focused, no matter the cost.

Spyro turned to see Spenna rushing over to a grate in the floor at the very back of the dungeon, so dimly lit Spyro hadn't realized it was there. In a rage, she flung the grate open, practically tearing it off its hinges. A loud, metal crash resonated throughout the hall. Spyro leaned over the opening. It was pitch black, which he countered with a quick burst of flame. The opening was horribly narrow, but nonetheless big enough for Callum to crawl through comfortably. More importantly, just _barely_ big enough for Spyro to crawl through.

Spyro stretched out his wings and did a few running steps in place to loosen himself up.

"I'm going after him."

"Spyro, for the last time-" Spenna began.

"No!" Spyro slammed his paw into the ground, vines from his earth element twirled quickly down his foreleg and webbed out from the impact. "I can catch him. We are wasting time arguing about it. This tunnel _has_ to come out _somewhere_, so go tell the Guardians he's gone and start doing a sweep of the area around Warfang," Spyro ordered. It felt almost comical to give orders to a dragon who absolutely paled him in size, but he persisted to hold a confident stare.

Spenna made to pipe up again, but hesitated, finally exhaling sharply through her teeth. "Alright, go get him. Just, for ancestor's sake, do _not_ get stuck in there. You do realize how narrow that tunnel is?"

"I'll be fine." Spyro affirmed, lowering himself into the opening. He could feel himself getting claustrophobic, the walls pressed sharply around him. Once he started moving forward, there would be no turning around. He turned back to Spenna one last time. "What's this grate for anyway?"

"Water drainage. Flood prevention and that sort of thing," she answered plainly.

"Let's get a lock on this from now on. I don't want the other prisoners getting any ideas," he said, eyeing the few prisoners who were peeking through the bars. They quickly retreated back into their cell after meeting Spyro's glare. "And, Spenna?" She raised an eyebrow. "Please tell Cynder where I am as soon as you can. She needs to know." _She's going to kill me for this_, Spyro thought.

Spenna nodded. "Of course." Spyro was just about to push off when Spenna grabbed him by the shoulder. "When you find him...make it hurt." Spyro nodded, and Spenna released her powerful grip. He shoved himself forward, beginning his awful trek through the narrow tube. He could hear Spenna slam the grate shut behind him. He knew he was in it for the long haul. There was no going back now.

* * *

To say the tunnel was narrow would be a gross understatement. Spyro furiously clawed his way through, feeling as if his scales were being torn off. Jagged walls of hardened dirt and rock pierced into his body from every direction. He clenched his teeth as the tunnel tore at his wings. He could only tuck them in so far. The further he went, the more hopelessly trapped he felt. It was darker than he ever could've imagined. He could only rely on feeling. He feared any drastic maneuver would cause a cave in, so trying to turn around and go back was out of the question-and physically impossible. The only thing that gave Spyro any hope was the fact that Callum was not in the tunnel, meaning there had to be an end somewhere.

He could feel his muscles screaming for an end to their relentless torture. The crawling became absolutely unbearable. Reach, claw, pull. Reach, claw, pull. Hours seemed to go by and he felt he was being driven further and further into madness. Once again he reached out to hoist himself forward. This time, however, he felt a different sensation. Smooth, wet stone. With all the strength he had left, he scraped himself forward, digging into the dirt with his back claws. As hard as he could, he pushed off the dirt with his back legs and shot out of an opening, toppling in a heaping, exhausted mess into a shallow stream of horribly cold water.

The freezing water sent a sharp chill between his scales, giving him a massive energy rush. He sprang to his paws to try and get out of the water but to no avail. He found himself in a long, endless tunnel system that seemed to stretch for miles.

_The sewers_, Spyro thought. He took a moment to stretch himself out, forgetting how thankful he was to be standing once again. Every joint in his body cracked, sending an eerie echo down the sewers.

Shimmering blue glow stones were embedded in between the rocks every few yards, lighting the tunnel in a calm, gentle light. The smooth sound of the stream flowing through the tunnel put his mind at ease, though the three inches of frigid water still grabbed hard at his ankles.

The main problem was not the biting cold, however. Spyro looked from left to right, seeing no difference between the two directions. There was no way to tell which way Callum had gone.

Spyro bared his teeth and growled, slamming his paw into the stream. Cold droplets erupted from the stream, shooting like tiny icicles onto his body. Jumping from the sharp sensation, a thought suddenly struck him. He looked down and watched the direction of the water flow.

_Callum's not an idiot, _he thought. Spyro followed the water with his eyes. _He would've followed the flow of the stream hoping it would lead him out of here._

Spyro began to walk with the stream, slowly making his way through the tunnel while trying to be as quiet as possible. Every little sound seemed to echo throughout the entire sewer system making stealth nearly impossible. But, with nowhere to hide, Spyro knew he could beat Callum in a foot race the moment he saw him. That is, _if _he saw him.

Spiderwebs decorated the walls and ceiling of the sewer. Spyro had to duck under a few to avoid getting tangled. It was doubtful a spider would dare bite a dragon, but he certainly wasn't in the mood to chance it. Rats would occasionally scuttle in front of him, swimming across the shallow stream to the other side of the tunnel. One of them even scurried over his tail, startling the daylights out of him.

It felt like he was walking on bruised talons, the cold really starting to get to him. Every step stung incessantly, shooting up nearly the entire length of his arms and legs. His breath clouded in front of him as he continued forward, following the icy water.

The longer he trekked down the sewer tunnel, the more he realized just how similar everything looked. There was no end in sight. Miles upon miles of tunnel stretched out in front and behind him, framed by unmarked walls and decorated with a few spiderwebs here and there. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the continuous pattern of tunnel. Spyro began to feel slightly disoriented, but pressed on, knowing what was at stake. There had been a few moments where he'd mistaken a shadow for a mysterious figure. They seemed to cling to the walls, waiting to jump out at him. He could feel his heart racing, mostly from the expectation of Callum appearing at any moment, though helpless fear seemed to creep its way in. It was moments like these he felt helpless without Cynder.

What would Cynder say when she discovered he'd left without telling her beforehand? Part of him wanted to believe that she'd tell him he'd done the right thing, doing what was necessary for the mission, but he couldn't convince himself. Their bond was stronger than an alliance. Guilt started to swell within him.

_If I fail, I will have hurt her for nothing_, Spyro thought. He'd put so much pressure on himself in this instance. Maybe he should have listened to Spenna? What was it that drove him to want to pursue Callum so badly? Seeking his own answers? Trying to help his allies? Trying to prove himself once again? Spyro didn't know. They all seemed decently reasonable.

Walking in chilled silence gave him time to try and plan ahead and get a few steps ahead of Callum. Callum had proved he was smart, crafty even. Finding him on his own would be tremendously difficult. Catching him once he was found, however, was bound to be easy. With the ankle bracelet on, there would be no fight. How could there be? Without his magic, even the staff he'd used in the Avalarian Forest, what defense other than body strength could Callum possess? And, in terms of natural body strength, there was no competition. Spyro could break Callum in his sleep and still have enough energy to climb a mountain.

As Spyro continued to think, he noticed a faint light shining down into the tunnel up ahead, though different from the glow stones along the tunnel. It was brighter, more brilliant. _Moonlight_, Spyro thought. He quickly ran up to it and peered directly above him. He stood under a circular chamber leading up to the streets of Warfang, capped off by a sewer grate that looked like a tiny eye, peering down on him from a hundred feet high. In the walls rested a trail of rungs serving as a ladder, normally for mole workers to gain access to the sewer.

The moonlight shining through the grate was symbolic, like a sign from above dawning on Spyro. Just another piece of the puzzle to help solve the mystery of Callum's escape. Spyro had been walking for a while and had found no sign of Callum.

_I'll bet he's not in the sewers anymore_, Spyro thought. Spyro grabbed onto the first rung and extended his neck into the chamber. He squinted his eyes, searching for any sign that Callum had climbed out. Quickly, he noticed that many of the bars were slightly wet in a few spots: perfectly outlining footsteps climbing the bars.

_Figures, he climbed out_, Spyro fumed. He gently banged his head a few times in frustration on the ladder. The rungs were freezing, only adding to his already chilled-over scales.

After a moment, he released his hold on the bars and dropped his forelegs back down into the uninviting stream. There was no way he could climb out the way Callum had. The chamber was far too narrow for a dragon his size. In fact, it almost looked too narrow for Callum to climb out. The entryway was meant for moles, beings far smaller than all humans. It surprised Spyro that Callum had managed to squeeze his way through. Then again, he had once been called 'lithe' in Spyro's mind.

With no other option before him, Spyro pressed on reluctantly. He knew he had to get out of the sewers, fast. It made him feel incredibly anxious knowing that Callum was likely just above him, sneaking around in the shadows, trying to find a stealthy way out of the city.

_Ancestors, if he'd done this during the day time there'd have been no chance of escape_, Spyro thought angrily, knowing Callum would never have been so naive. Callum had, once again, proven his intelligence. He may have given off a facade of impulsiveness, but deep down he'd proven himself a master of planning.

'_This ain't my first rodeo, scaly,' _Callum had said to Cynder. Come to think of it, Spyro just now realized he had never heard of a 'rodeo.'

_Must be some weird human thing, _he thought. Quickly he shook himself back into focus. _Okay, seriously, Spyro, we gotta get moving here_. Spyro clenched his jaw and began to run down the sewer system. Maybe he could get out of the city before Callum did and trap him on the outskirts?

He tried to run as fast as he could but his paws were completely numb. He felt like a newly-hatched dragon trying to take its first few steps. His legs were wobbly, his muscles were locking up. The only thing that felt strong was his determination.

Faster, faster he ran, while wobblier and wobblier he became. The chill began to crawl up into his knees. He _had _to get out of the sewers as fast as he could. It was unlikely he would freeze to death down here, but he couldn't take any chances of becoming seriously ill.

He knew the storm drains lead to lakes on the outskirts of Warfang, hopeful thinking he held onto. It was possible that Callum had kept running forward like Spyro was. But, with the option of climbing out of the freezing stream, Spyro couldn't imagine Callum would've refused getting out of the tunnels. Had all of this happened back when Spyro believed he was a dragonfly, he would have climbed out the way Callum had.

Spyro ran for what felt like an hour, a trend that began to encapsulate the entire experience of chasing down Callum. But finally, he saw distant beams of moonlight shooting into the end of the tunnel. Freedom, looking to be only a few hundred feet away. Excitement began to surge through his body. Gritting his fangs hard, he exploded into a full sprint, clawing his way through the numbness of his paws to reach the soft, cushy grass he'd never realized how much he could miss.

Like a cannonball being fired from the cannons of Warfang, Spyro burst out of the sewer tunnel, skidding over the lake and whirling rapidly into the sky. His mighty wings sent down a shower of lake water drizzling to the ground. He felt freer than he'd felt in years. The moonlight reflected beautifully off of his scales, filling him with confidence. He was a purple dragon. He was meant for adventures like this.

Free from the tunnel of doom, he turned back toward Warfang, only a few miles away. It was now that the most difficult part would begin: tracking Callum. He flapped as hard as he could, mixing a few dives into his flight rhythm to maximize his speed. Spyro couldn't help but smile as the wind glided over his aerodynamic physique. As he flew, he thought through any possible escape route Callum could have taken.

_There's no way he could've waltzed out the front gate. The guards would've heard it opening. _Warfang grew ever closer; the shadowy walls of the city seemed to grow out of the horizon. _There's no way he could've climbed over the walls: they're too high and the guards would've easily seen him. _

It was another frustrating mystery. The whole thing seemed like a wild sheep chase. Callum was under the cover of darkness, making spotting him from the sky certainly impossible. Spyro at least had a chance of picking up some kind of trail if he was lucky enough to find any evidence.

Nearly above Warfang now, he scanned the perimeter. Miles and miles of wall spanned around the massive city, symbolic of how difficult this quest was going to be. A monstrous wall decorated with guards atop it stretched to both his right and left. One of the guards, a mole with a staff much taller than him, nodded to him in the night sky. Spyro doubted the mole could tell who he was against the night sky, but he nodded back anyway. Spyro felt overwhelmed. Callum could've gone in a million different directions. How could he possibly know where to begin?

He'd seriously begun to consider turning back until something caught his eye. To his left, a little ways down the wall, a shadowy opening was embedded into the wall, just barely big enough to notice from so high in the night sky. From the opening extended the Borg River, pouring into Warfang. Spyro raised an eyebrow. _Maybe_, he thought. As fast as he could, he dove toward the Borg, willing to try anything at this point. Landing next to the river, he got a better look at the opening. There was nothing special to it really; it was just a small opening in the wall of the city so the Borg could pour into Warfang, blocked off with a set of vertical bars.

It struck Spyro, looking at those bars. The gaps in between the bars were far too thin for a dragon to ever dream of squeezing through. But a thin human? Spyro creeped closer, staying low to the ground. The river churned peacefully under the shine of the moonlight. He surveyed the grass around the Borg, scanning for any sign of agitation. All of a sudden, his paw squelched in the grass. He lifted it out quickly, the sensation being far from pleasing. But, it quickly dawned on him he'd found exactly what he was looking for.

Mud. Muddy footprints from the base of the river. The Borg wasn't a massive river like the Bletta, though it was decently deep. It was more of a wide stream, really, primarily meant for filtering into drinking water, washing clothes, and occasional fishing. Callum may have been almost fully submerged in the water, judging by his height, but his feet surely would've scraped against the bottom. Spyro remembered he'd been barefoot. His odd, human feet would've carried the mud out of the river and stuck with him for at least a few steps.

Spyro continued to study the ground, looking for any sign of direction. There wouldn't be many steps as the mud would've quickly worn off, but maybe just enough to indicate in which direction Callum would've gone. Spyro sniffed the mud. If the mud itself wouldn't stay on Callum's feet, there's a good chance the smell would linger for a while.

Spyro slowly began to track in the direction he could find any traces of mud or the smell. It wasn't easy, being guided only by the moonlight, but he was careful. He made sure to sweep his paw everywhere he stepped and smell justly. He managed to track a few dozen steps before the smell started to become almost too faint to notice. The mud itself had worn off almost instantly as Callum had gotten out of the river. But, Spyro had a direction now. Judging by how far apart the footprints were, it was clear that Callum was in a full-on sprint away from Warfang.

Spyro looked back toward the walls of Warfang. It surprised him how Callum had managed to run away from the city without any of the guards noticing. But the two moons of Avalar, Adrano and Zella, were at an impasse. Adrano was just peeking out of the sky, a mere crescent, while Zella was nowhere to be seen. Callum had been lucky enough to escape on an incredibly dark and shadowy night. And, with no shoes or armor to make any noise, Callum had likely waited until the guards were turned away, then sprinted away as quickly and silently as he could. It was unlikely Callum had any immediate destination in mind. His only goal at the moment had to be getting as far away from Warfang as possible.

Spyro rested on that thought for a moment as he continued along Callum's supposed path. Where would Callum go? The obvious answer would be back to Pillasia, but the more Spyro thought about it, there was absolutely no way that could happen. Callum was doomed out here. He had no weapons, no armor, and only the food and water of the wild to live on. Plus, Pillasia was over a week's walk away-a journey that would not be worth it. He'd be in danger going back there. Sure he may be able to keep quiet for a little while, but Callum had given away forbidden secrets, willingly or not. He'd allowed himself to become a prisoner, and would be undoubtedly viewed as a traitor. Once the other Pillarians discovered his forced betrayal, they'd kill him on the spot. Or worse, torture him endlessly.

But, a thought came back to Spyro. The way Callum had reacted when Cynder mentioned 'someone' to him. That had hit Callum-hard. There was someone, or _someones_, that he cared about. It was plausible that he may try and fight his way back to them, whoever they were. Spyro wondered who they could be, but quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

_Callum may try to head back to Pillasia at some point, but he'll have to get supplies to make it_. Spyro thought about all the small neighboring villages that decorated the land within the many miles outside Warfang.

There was Révos, the village of the foxes. There was a decent chance they wouldn't mind helping out a stray human. Foxes weren't _exactly_ the most trustworthy sort, no doubt about that, though the dragons had signed a peace treaty with them following the Grublin War. Spyro quickly eliminated that idea, taking into account that, once again, Callum was no fool. If the foxes helped him they'd surely demand something in return. Plus, Révos was at least a three day walk. Callum would need supplies much sooner than that.

Ulvonta was another possibility. It was certainly much closer than Révos. Callum could get there in a day. But, then again, a human wandering into the territory of the wolves? No, not a chance. That was a slaughter waiting to happen. And...potentially a feast. Spyro shook away the chills crawling up his spine. Wolves were not to be trifled with. It may be possible for Callum to sneak in, grab what he needs, and get out undetected, but it was a slim chance. Wolves patrolled in packs, making spotting him even easier with so many eyes. Callum would never chance it.

Mäyrä, the home of the badgers: some of the finest weaponsmiths in Avalar and unbreakable allies of the dragons. It was the closest to Avalar, a mere four hour walk, yet the badgers were far too loyal to even consider helping a human, the arch enemies of dragons. Callum would quickly be returned to the Warfang dungeon.

It was the same for Pungdyr, the village of the kangaroos. Kangaroos were arguably more loyal to the dragons than the badgers, and that was seriously saying something. With powerful legs that could shatter a ribcage with a single kick, the dragons were thankful to have them on their side. Memories of one of Spyro's oldest friends wisped through his mind. Sheila-it had been months since Spyro had seen her. With the war raging with the humans, he'd seldom been able to leave Warfang which was under constant threat of invasion. Only special assignments and reinforcement calls gave him the opportunity to venture out. He almost felt the urge to visit just for the purpose of seeing his old friend, but Pungdyr was more than a days walk. He couldn't spare the time just yet.

Spyro shook himself out of his daydreaming, cycling through a handful of the other animal tribes, but each one presented a potential problem for Callum.

_C'mon, think, Spyro. Think. Callum's a planner. Where would he go?_

Spyro's head started to pound, forcing him to stop for a moment and sit. He held a paw to his aching brow. The same seven tribes kept circling through his head until finally, the circle was broken.

It hit him.

_The black market caravan. Of _course!

The opossums. Selfish. Manipulative. Obsessed with money. They'd sell anything they could get their filthy paws on for coins. They were banned anywhere near Warfang, and for good reason. Normally, they were constantly traveling, city-hopping as much as they could. But word got around quickly within the Dragon Realms that they'd set up camp about two weeks ago, only a day outside Warfang. Callum would be more than welcome there. The opossums would have all the food, armor, and weapons Callum would need-if he could pay.

Where Callum would get the coins was beyond Spyro. Callum seemed the sort to pickpocket the first fool that stumbled along. Callum also seemed the sort to try and steal from the opossums which could prove to be a deadly decision.

Opossums had a reputation for torturing thieves, which was ironic, being thieves themselves. Horrific stories of dragons and cheetahs alike being skinned, or scaled, alive. Burned at the stake. Left tied to a tree to starve. There was even a story that got around of a mole being lynched from a tree and unfortunately being discovered by his family while out picking flowers.

Spyro felt nauseous, a chill crept up his spine. If Callum was heading to the black market caravan, that meant he'd have to follow him. He'd have to deal with the opossums first hand unless maybe he could beat Callum to them and avoid them completely?

Spyro groaned. If there was anything he hated it was being forced to deal with despicable, lowly creatures. Opossums were among the worst in the Dragon Realms, just barely under that of humans.

_Callum will fit right in with them, _Spyro mocked. With a clear destination in mind, he rose to his paws, feeling the stiffness in his body coming back to bite him. He knew it'd never go away until the war was over.

* * *

Spyro had been walking for a few hours in silence. He'd felt the urge to run, more than a few times. But the journey would be a long one, and he was smart enough to preserve his strength. As far as he knew, Callum could appear without a moment's notice. He had to be ready.

He had stopped only once to scarf down a rabbit. He'd been able to ignore his hunger for awhile, but the grumbling became so loud he couldn't hear himself think. It wasn't much, but just enough to keep pushing.

The sky was still as black as could be. It would be hours before dawn's early light would begin to brighten up the sky. Spyro imagined how much easier it would be to track in the daylight, but resting was time he couldn't afford to waste. Dawn would have to wait.

Spyro continued his journey when all of a sudden he heard the faintest rustle in the bushes. At first, he thought nothing of it. The night was full of noises. But for some reason, the rustle seemed different. It wasn't a loud, scattered rustle of something running away from him, it was just a whisper. An unintentional disturbance of the brush. He couldn't confirm it, but it felt like something was watching him.

Spyro swallowed his fear, picking up the pace a bit. He was completely alone out here and surrounded by darkness. He was an easy target.

Again, another rustle. Louder this time, and from his other side. Whatever it was had friends. Spyro couldn't guess how many there were, but from the constant rustling, it had to be at least three. Maybe four.

Spyro knew he couldn't outrun whatever it was, and he wanted to avoid flying away. He couldn't risk Callum potentially seeing him against the moonlit sky. A group of something was following him. Spyro dug his claws into the grass and halted to a stop, springing into battle stance and baring his teeth. Molten fire dripped from his jaws, burning the grass below him.

"Whatever you are, _get...back,_" Spyro growled, as menacing as he could.

Spyro reared up his front paws, just about to spring into attack, when suddenly a tiny squirrel darted out of the grass. The squirrel gave him a confused look, almost as if to say "uh...hi?" Seeing the fire dripping from Spyro's jaws, the squirrel booked it away from him. Spyro raised a brow, completely confused...and embarrassed.

_Well, at least no one was around to see-_

Spyro felt a screaming pain in his head, feeling the butt end of a sword bash against his temple. His vision went fuzzy. All at once, a hissing sound filled the air, and Spyro found himself lying on the ground with an opossum standing in front of him. A sword was pointed to Spyro's throat.

"You sseem to be losst, friend," the opossum hissed. His voice was like listening to a dragon's claws scrape against bare rock. "Where are you going at ssuch a late hour?"

"That's none of your concern," Spyro stated plainly, holding a claw to his bloody head. He rose weekly from the grass.

The opossum smiled, yellowed fangs peeking out of a devilish grin. "That'ss a nassty cut you got on your head. You know, we have plenty of medical ssupplies back at our camp. Perhapss I could take you there?"

Spyro couldn't help but chuckle in his head. Ironically that was exactly where he needed to go...but not this way.

"Leave, creature," Spyro growled, fanning out his wings. "Your words are _poison_."

"Ah, tut tut tut," the opossum mocked with his free paw. "That'ss no way to sspeak to ssomeone offering to help you." The opossum advanced toward Spyro, pressing the sword closer to his throat. "And I wassn't assking."

Spyro reacted quickly, swatting the sword away from his throat with his talons. The opossum was vulnerable now. Spyro dashed forward, ramming into the opossum's gut with his horns. The opossum fell hard onto his back.

"Fuylta! Römlut! Capture him!" the opossum managed to choke out before Spyro could make another attack.

Spyro didn't even have a chance to turn before he was bombarded with attacks. A club knocked out his back leg. Another sword hilt slammed across his face. Spyro crumbled to the ground in pain. The attacks wouldn't cease. His body was beaten mercilessly.

Swords cut through his scales. He felt one of his ribs break under the smash of the club. It was too dark to see clearly, and his vision was so fuzzy he was completely helpless. He swung his tail blade blindly, feeling it slice something.

An agonized shriek filled the air. Spyro felt blood splatter onto his tail.

"My eye! He sliced my eye!"

Spyro tried to rise quickly but again was smashed over the face with a club. Harder this time. The club must've had a stone tied to the end of its wooden handle. He almost passed out from the blow. Before he could even process how much pain he was in, he felt a pain like he'd never felt before.

A sword sliced across the entire membrane on his right wing. He cried in sheer agony and terror. Years of battle experience and he'd never experienced pain nor defeat like this before. He lay helplessly on the ground. He was sure his back leg was broken along with one of his ribs. He felt his head bleeding profusely. His snout was undoubtedly broken. Now his wing had been sliced through. What was a dragon without flight?

Spyro couldn't move as a burlap sack was thrown over his head, completely blinding him. His horns pierced through the top of it. He reached for it but quickly felt that same club bash into his paw, shattering his knuckles. He cried out in pain.

"Wh...why are you doing this?" he managed to choke out weakly.

He felt one of the opossums grab one of his horns and hiss softly into his ear.

"It'ss jusst bussiness."

Spyro could ask no more questions as one final blow knocked him out instantly. The last thing he remembered thinking was how big of a mistake he'd made venturing out on his own.

_What have I done?_

* * *

**Thank you all for checking out my story. I encourage you to leave a comment as both positive and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. If you enjoyed the story, you can let me know by hitting the FOLLOW and FAVORITE button. And as always, please give a virtual round of applause to SKdagamer for being the wonderful proof-reader of my story. **

**Till we meet again, bless.**

**Joshua**


	7. Seven

**By the power of elemental fury, I bestow upon you all: Chapter Seven. **

**Let's get right to it. **

**Onward!**

* * *

Spyro awoke to a muffled beating inside his head. His head ached unbearably, like it was being squeezed by a giant. He couldn't move a muscle. Constant, searing pain shot across his right wing, feeling as if it were being sliced over and over. He tried to raise his eyelids, but they rested heavily over his eyes, only managing to hold his eyes open for a few seconds at a time. The few seconds he was able to keep them open were filled with a blinding light, probably from the sun. He couldn't see anything, only a brilliant, white light blanketing over his entire field of vision.

The pattern seemed to drag on for several minutes until _finally_ his eyes began to adjust to his surroundings. At the same time, his consciousness became more attuned to the situation he'd become trapped in. Soreness wasn't what was preventing him from moving, though it certainly played a role. Multiple sharp, metal restraints had been fastened all across his body. The first one stared hard into his eyes from just down his snout. A jagged, metal vice was clamped tightly around his maw, making it difficult to breathe. Spyro winced uncomfortably. The vice was clamped so tightly there were a few dried trickles of blood painted across the scales lining the restraint.

Both his arms and legs were bound to one another in the same morbid fashion, rendering him completely unable to walk or even rise to his paws. The same dried blood dotted the scales on his wrists and ankles. His wings were both clamped shut as well, in a way which prevented them from unfurling. Dried blood trickled across his left wing, though the blood on his right wing looked fresher and was a considerable amount more than anywhere else on his body. The bleeding appeared to have slowed, but not completely ceased. He was almost thankful he couldn't unfurl his wings. He couldn't bear to think what his shredded wing might look like, judging from the amount of blood and how much pain he was in. All of his bindings were attached to individual chains that lead back to a strong, metal rod buried deep into the dirt behind him, far too deep to be able to tear out of the soil. Plus, he wouldn't be able to stand nor get a grip on the rod to even attempt to break free.

Spyro noticed only one cheap and awfully scratchy bandage placed over his temple where he'd taken most of the hits from the night before. Or, was it two nights before? Spyro didn't know but, regardless, it was obvious he needed far more medical treatment than one ratty bandage, though he guessed he wouldn't be getting it.

_How long have I been unconscious? _Spyro thought. _How much time have I wasted being wherever 'here' is? _Panic began to ensue, forcing him to take slow, yet staggered, breaths.

"Spyro! Oh thank _Faunus_ you're awake!" he heard a weak voice say.

It was only then did he realize he wasn't alone. As best he could he shifted his head to the left in the direction where the voice had come from. When his eyes landed on the source, they widened in shock.

Directly to his left was Elora the faun.

_Elora! _Spyro thought. She was bound in a similar fashion, though a mouth clamp would've been unnecessary for her as she couldn't breathe any elements. Spyro wanted to say something, _anything,_ but he couldn't, only managing to make humming sounds in his throat. The clamp over his jaws dug into his scales, making his eyes water as he attempted to speak.

"Don't do that!" Elora warned in a low voice, raising her bound hands in front of her. Her wrists were bloodied just as much as his were. "I know you're surprised to see me, but don't try to speak. You'll open up the cuts on your snout."

Spyro groaned frustratingly. Conversation was doomed to be impossible, but he had to try. As best as he could, he gestured with his eyes and head around the room, trying to get Elora to explain what was going on.

Elora raised an eyebrow. "I can only assume that means you're completely confused about where you are?" Elora guessed. Spyro nodded. "You're in the opossums' camp, or the black market caravan, whichever you prefer."

Spyro pounded his head lightly into the dirt. He'd been captured by the black market traders-exactly what was _not _supposed to happen. Callum could be _miles_ away by now and would only put more distance between them the longer Spyro remained a prisoner.

"You've only been out for the night," Elora added. That made Spyro feel slightly better, at least it hadn't been a week or something. "They dragged you in late and you just woke up today: the following afternoon. Not exactly the most ideal place you'd want to wake up in, huh?"

_You can say that again, _Spyro chided in his head. He had so many questions he couldn't vocalize. He tried to gesture again with his head, only this time toward Elora.

Elora tilted her head. "You're thirsty?" Elora guessed before scoffing at herself. "Duh, Elora, of course he is." Spyro rolled his eyes with a painful smirk and nodded, then again gestured to her only this time with his bound paws. "Oh! You probably want to know how I got here, right?" Spyro nodded, more urgently this time. Elora propped her knees up and rested her hands atop them, leaning back against her restraining rod and looking toward the ceiling in thought. "Well, I think it's been almost two weeks, maybe? Something like that." She rested her chin on the back of her hands. "They got me while I was out hunting...the bastards. From what I've gathered while I've been here, it seems the opossums have gotten bored with petty goods and supplies profit...so they've advanced to hostages." She sighed. "I guess they figure the more creatures they capture the better chance they have of capturing someone valuable." A spark of fiery energy shot through Spyro's eyes in anger, which Elora caught instantly. "I know. After they've captured someone, a ransom message is delivered to try and sell them back to wherever they came from."

Spyro was disgusted. Capturing and beating on innocent creatures just to make a profit? Opossums truly are despicable creatures.

"I see the look on your face," Elora continued. "Trust me, it gets worse. Most of the people they capture aren't valuable enough to be sold back home, so they're often killed, and always in the horrible opossum way." Elora looked up toward the sun. "It would've been too difficult to travel with hostages, that's why they set up camp here."

So that was it? Spyro had been captured and had his tail handed to him for no other reason than the assumption he could be sold?

_What kind of sick business is this? _Spyro fumed, smoke billowing out his nostrils. Chills went down his spine. He was a _good_, merely a trinket waiting to be sold. It was one thing to inflict violence upon an innocent creature, but to then place a price over their life? It was disgusting.

"We're okay, Spyro. There's no way we won't get out of this," Elora said, partially calming Spyro's pounding headache. He turned toward her and tried to smile, sending the all-too-familiar shooting pain down his snout. His eyes became misty, his paws clenching uncomfortably.

He got a good look at her through his tears. It had been months since he'd seen her last. He'd missed her. Looking back, she'd been one of his best friends during their childhood. Ancestors, how she'd changed. No longer was she the silly, quirky faun he used to play tag with around the swamps, which neighbored Satyra, her village nearby. She'd grown into a strong, formidable fauness, yet, from the small exchange he'd shared with her, had still managed to maintain a prominent silly side. She was dressed in leather armor which in many places was shaped like a leaf, imitating the sigil of the fauns of Satyra. Green, leaf-shaped armor plating jutted from her shoulders, her knees, and one giant leaf plate extended down her torso. She was a warrior now, and exactly the kind of ally Spyro would want in this situation.

He looked around the room and realized he was in a tent, with a skylight at the top, open to the sun that was beating directly onto him. The rest of the tent was relatively dark, though he was able to pick out other rods placed in a circular fashion around the borders of the tent. It was a large, roomy tent, with tattered brown fabric caging them in. There had to be at least thirty other rods for prisoners, though the majority of them were empty. Through the dim lighting, Spyro was able to make out three other prisoners, spaced out evenly in the far right corner of the tent. Just by doing a once over of the other captives, it became clear the opossums had no criteria for whomever they decided to drag back to their camp.

There was a fox, with _incredibly_ red fur, almost the color of blood. It looked like she'd seen a few battles in her lifetime, judging by the amount of scars that were traced along her fur. The top half of her left ear was missing too. And, her leg looked to be broken, held together by a cheap wooden splint that looked like it had been thrown on with absolutely no care whatsoever. She was dressed with expertly crafted leather armor, inlaid with several patches of chainmail across her arms, legs, shoulders, and torso.

There was another dragon, much younger than Spyro, only a few years older than a hatchling, with scales shaded a dark blue, almost black, like the depths of the ocean. His wings and underbelly were tinted a lighter blue, almost like the sky on a bright summer day. His scales were so clean and pure, almost looking as if he'd sustained no injuries, yet there was a solemness hovering over him. Hopelessness seemed to emanate within his aura.

Finally, there was a bear.

_A bear?! _Spyro thought. _How in the name of the Chronicler did they manage to capture a _bear_?! _

Bears were neither friends nor foes of the dragons, normally preferring to keep to themselves. They were neither aggressive nor passive. They were incredibly wise, yet fierce when they needed to be. The dragons had been attempting to become allies with them for many years, but had eventually given up after the bears had continuously refused to get involved in _our war_, as they'd put it.

This bear was a rich brown, almost camouflaged against the muted color of the tent fabric. His size was the most intimidating aspect about him. He would no doubt tower over Spyro at full height and, judging by the hump on his back, had to be a grizzly: the wisest and fiercest of all bears. His paws were easily as big as Spyro's head, with claws that jutted out like lethal daggers. Spyro looked at his own claws, which had to be barely over half the size of the bear's. He couldn't even begin to guess how they'd managed to capture a bear of his stature. His only guess was that the bear looked to be a bit on the older side. Perhaps he'd slowed down in years?

"There were more before you got here," Elora said suddenly, noticing Spyro's gauging of the room. Spyro looked at her, his eyes speaking his question. Elora nodded. "They weren't worth anything to them." A tear rested on her eye before she blinked it away. "I could be next for all we know. Who knows if my village values me enough to pay for me?"

That broke Spyro's heart. Elora was one of the most wonderful individuals he'd ever met. She was strong-willed, wise, and bore a personality that shined like the morning sun. The severity of the situation spanned far beyond Spyro merely being captured. Elora's life was in danger, and there was no telling if the other fauns back in Satyra would pay for her. It made Spyro's blood boil to think that his childhood friend's life rested upon her price tag.

_When I get my claws on those opossums_, Spyro envisioned, clenching his claws and threatening to reopen the wounds on his wrists. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of price would be put over his head. It was without question that Warfang would want him back, but it made him cringe to think how humiliating it would be for that message to be received.

_Then again, it would be a way for Cynder to know where I am_, Spyro thought, before quickly throwing that thought away. She'd be worried sick and come after him herself, putting her own life in danger. Cynder needed to know where he was, true, but not this way.

It was shocking to know that the black market caravan was still standing with all of the kidnapping taking place. It sounded reasonable enough that tribes would eventually revolt against the opossums, but then again, the opossums had chosen the perfect time to up their merchandise. With the war raging on, no one would spare any defensive forces in a reckless rescue mission, especially if it was for only a few individuals. As morbid as it sounded, war often demanded sacrifices for the benefit of the most people, even if that meant the expense of a few innocents. Plus, it would have to be more than a small rescue force in order to fight the opossums.

The opossums were good fighters, though their real strength lie within their craftiness. No one would argue that the opossums weren't a threat, but it would unfortunately have to wait until the war was over. They could have their sick 'fun' for now.

But, addressing the matter at paw, lives were at stake here, especially the life of a dear friend. He couldn't let any innocents die while he could do something about it. But, what could he do? He was completely restrained except for his tail, which wouldn't do him much good if he couldn't even stand up.

_They _must _check on their prisoners every now and then. There's likely some guards posted out front too_, Spyro thought. This was an incredibly difficult situation. His instinct had always been to spring into action, but this time he would have to wait and observe for a while before he could figure something out.

He didn't have to wait long as a dark figure entered the room. His fur was muted, like the bear's, against the shadowy tent, so it was difficult to discern exactly what he looked like, but it was unmistakably an opossum.

"Good morning, prettiess," he hissed. "I'm sure you noticed our new friend here, hm? Been playing nice with him, I hope." Only the blue dragon and Elora looked to Spyro. The fox averted her gaze, while the bear stared back at the opossum calmy. The opossum took notice of the fox's blatant avoidance of him. "Oh, cheer up, vixen, we've ssent word to Révoss. You'll be out of here in no time." The opossum kneeled down to her and got disturbingly close to her face. "That iss, unlesss you're actually _worth _anything."

The fox raised her head slowly with a sneer, baring her wicked fangs. "Do _not _call me 'vixen,' you _filth_." She spat in his face, causing him to slap a hand to his face and draw back. "My name is Elskaðir, and you would do good to call me _nothing less_."

The opossum retained his superior grin, clasping his hand together as if he were doing an interview. "My dear, Elsskaðir, I advisse you sstart praying your name iss 'five thoussand helmi,' elsse you won't be breathing air for much longer." It was a shameful insult, and the piercing hurt showed on her face. She tore violently at her chains, reaching for the opossum's throat to no avail. It was abasing to be defined as a price. Spyro's disdain for the opossums had grown tenfold overnight. "And furthermore," the opossum continued confidently, "you cannot assk for resspect elsse you're willing to _give it_. 'Filth' surely iss not my name, nor hass it ever been. _You _would do good to call _me_ 'herra'."

"You don't deserve my respect," Elskaðir growled. "You and all of the opossums can burn in the depths of _Underverden _for all I care." She clawed deep furrows into the dirt by her side, likely imagining she was cutting into the opossum.

The opossum rolled his eyes. "Oh, you foxess and your pessky religion. Sso predictable." His words were belittling. He spoke to her with no pity, no regard for her life. To him, she truly was just a sale. Before she could speak again, he slapped her hard with the back of his paw, right across her face. She held back tears. He got even closer to her face than he had the first time. "I urge you _not_ to mouth off to me again, else you enjoy pain." She looked about ready to kill him, but spoke no further.

The opossum continued to circle around to the other prisoners, stopping next in front of the young blue dragon. "And how are we today, little one?" He held his paws behind his back authoritatively. It was a simple question, yet somewhat resonated as demeaning.

The blue dragon did not respond, dropping his head low to the ground.

"Oh, don't look sso glum," the opossum hissed, kicking him lightly with his foot. "Your family already agreed to pay. You'll be out of here in a few dayss," the opossum hissed. Somehow, Spyro found that difficult to believe.

Continuing his way around the circle of prisoners, the opossum then stopped in front of the bear. Spyro couldn't help but chuckle at how puny the opossum looked compared to the bear. The bear stared back without a glint of fear in his eye. There was almost amusement. The opossum stared back, seemingly trying to figure him out.

"Need something, tiny?" the bear asked sarcastically. His voice was deeper than Terrador's. It was the kind of voice that could almost make the ground rumble.

The opossum chuckled. "Oh, how I'll misss your enthussiassm." The opossum continued to walk with his paws behind him. He made his way across the center of the tent to Elora with a giddy skip to his step. "Ah, the beautiful enchantresss. How are you today my ssweet, Efora?"

Elora scoffed and rolled her eyes. "It's _Elora_, you dimwit. And I am not your _sweet_."

The opossum clicked his tongue several times. "Oh, tut tut tut. Ssuch fire from one sso fair." He knelt to her level, stroking her cheek with his disgusting, jagged finger. Elora snapped at his finger, causing him to yank his paw back. He smiled grimly, stifling a chuckle. "My oh my, how I love your sspirit. Tell me, darling, have you conssidered my offer?"

Elora narrowed her eyes with a hatred Spyro had never seen from her. "I would rather _die_ than be your playtoy."

The opossum rose from his crouch. "I would be careful what you wish for, fauness. Your tribe doessn't sseem too enthussiastic about paying. Though...perhapss _I_ can ssave you…" He turned his back to her and froze in place. "...for a price."

A shimmer of leafy green fury burst across Elora's iris'. "You try _anything_ and I'll _cut your throat_," she threatened.

The opossum only chuckled amusingly, turning to face her once again. "You have until the end of the day, princesss. We are tired of waiting for your people to decide. It sseemss they're more interessted in planning their mussic fesstival than ssaving your life." The opossum looked up toward the sun contemplatively. "Alwayss did want to go to one of thosse," he said to himself plainly. He winked at Elora as he stepped away, earning an unwavering glare from her in return.

Finally, he stepped in front of Spyro. Spyro stared back with an unwavering, fierce gaze, or as fierce as it could be under all his restraints. "And Sspyro: our mosst valuable catch yet." The opossum knelt down and cupped his hand under Spyro's chin, forcing him to stare into his beady eyes. "You, my friend, are going to make uss a fortune. No way Warfang will let _you_ die." Spyro yanked his head away from the opossum's grasp, earning an amused chuckle from his captor. "Frankly, I'm a bit shocked my boyss were able to catch you. Thosse three certainly desserve a raisse. And, with your return, that shouldn't be an issue."

Spyro could only glare back, not even able to snarl. He felt his body tensing under his metal bindings. Smoke rose from his nostrils ominously.

_You've got another thing coming, you _rat, Spyro thought, grazing his tailblade across the grass behind him. The opossum seemed to be amused by Spyro's attempt to appear menacing, knowing he had the upper hand.

The sun beat down hard on the opossum, giving Spyro a chance to get a good look at the despicable creature. He was a disgusting animal with matted down fur, dirtied with at least a week's buildup of mud and grime. The smell coming off of him was repulsive, making Spyro gag in his throat. Spyro guessed bathing wasn't one of these creatures' first priorities. The opossum had a scar extending from the right corner of his mouth all the way up to his right ear, completely denying any fur growth along its cragged edges. What was most intriguing, however, was the fact that he wore finely-made robes, too fine to be worn for the likes of this low-life: royal blue with the fur of some animal around the neck and cuffs. Around the opossum's neck hung three strands of priceless, golden jewelry.

_Stolen, obviously_, Spyro filled in the blanks. _Gold is also very much _not _his color. _

A thin, wicked dagger was tucked into his brown, leather belt, and it appeared to be the only weapon he carried. What caught Spyro's attention the most, though, were his eyes.

Black. Blacker than the night sky. There didn't appear to be a soul behind those reflective windows. It was almost as if they could drain hope and replace it with despair just by looking into them. This was a heartless creature, it was easy to tell. There would be no remorse for death or misery from him.

He grabbed one of Spyro's horns, pulling his head up to look at him. Somehow, Spyro felt small under his piercing gaze.

"You know, I'm tempted to kill you now. You hero typess are alwayss ssuch a nuissance," the opossum hissed, baring his fangs, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. "But, the price iss too good for you. Sso, I'll keep you around," the opossum chuckled before releasing his hold on Spyro's horn. Spyro's head fell heavily to the ground with a hard thump. His jaw clicked all the way through his skull. The opossum made his way toward the entrance to the tent. "Resst up, deariess, there'ss helmi to be made." He held a paw to his heart and painted on a fake smile. "Pleasse don't hessitate to let uss know how we can make your sstay more comfortable."

The opossum bowed and left the tent without another word, cackling to himself. Within the first few minutes of being introduced to him, a deep hatred for the creature had been embedded within Spyro's soul. Between opossums and humans, it was now a tossup between which creature was more sickening.

Spyro looked to Elora, who held her head down in shame. That opossum had been stripping her of her identity and dignity, treating her like she was nothing more than an object for the weeks she'd been trapped here. Spyro wished he could silence that vile opossum, or at least wrap his good wing around his hurting friend.

"You okay, Elora?" Elskaðir asked softly from across the tent. Elora looked up slowly and managed to muster a pained smile. Elskaðir nodded back solemnly.

Elora turned her attention toward the small blue dragon close to Elskaðir. "You'll be out of here soon, Cylar," Elora said, trying to sound encouraging. "You'll get to see your family soon." Her words were soft, like a soothing hymn.

Cylar looked up solemnly. He wasn't bound as intensely as Spyro was. Only one chain was wrapped around his neck.

_Probably too young to use his element_, Spyro thought.

Cylar sighed. "I know, but what about you guys?"

"We'll be fine, little one," the bear chimed in. Spyro was caught off guard again by how deep his voice was. "Your family needs you now. These are dangerous times." All four of the bear's limbs were chained to the pole behind him, making it difficult for him to maneuver. It was impressive to know that the opossums had chains strong enough to hold a mammoth like him, and also unsettling. The bear turned toward Spyro. "So, you're the legendary 'Spyro' whose name I keep hearing throughout the years?"

Spyro nodded uncomfortably, wincing as the metal scraped against his snout.

"I can imagine those bindings are far from comfortable," the bear empathized, his ear flicking from a fly buzzing around the tent. "Were I not restrained myself, I'd pry them off for you." He looked to his fellow prisoners. "You seem to have caught everyone else's names except mine." As best he could, the bear held one paw across his chest, bowing respectably. "I am Väktare, the guardian of the eight bear tribes."

_The guardian? As in the leader?_ Spyro thought. _Geez, for the leader he-_

"I know what you're thinking, I can see it on your face," Väktare interrupted. Spyro quickly lowered his floating brows, realizing the speculation painted across his face. "Let me make one thing clear: the opossums did _not_ capture me. In fact, I find it quite humorous that they believe they did." He chuckled deeply to himself. "No, I allowed myself to be captured so I could get a firsthand look at their operations here. They camped far too close to Klomänniskor for our liking, so I decided to do some investigation, against my advisor's warnings, I might add." He sighed. "Alas, the duties of a guardian are dangerous, but we care for our own."

Visions of Ignitus quickly flashed through Spyro's head. Väktare reminded Spyro so much of Ignitus: the way he spoke, the way he presented himself-it was clear he was a natural born leader. Väktare was dressed in glorious, rich clothing: greens and browns that looked as if they'd been plucked right from the brilliance of the forest. A singular silver medallion hung from his neck. He was too far away to make out any details, though Spyro assumed it had to be marked with the sigil of the eight bear tribes.

Väktare let out a mighty chuckle. "Oh, by Artaois, you should have seen the foolish looks on their faces when they thought they could make a fortune from me. They may be clever, but none so much as us bears."

Elskaðir looked to him with a concerned look. "But Väktare, what happens when they figure out they can't profit from you? They'll kill you, you know?"

Väktare grinned confidently. "They will try."

Like the opossums, Spyro had never met a bear for himself either, only hearing stories from other dragons. He had to admit they, at least Väktare, were nothing like he expected. All his life he'd imagined the bears being standoffish, blindy arrogant, and no one you'd ever want to be around. But Väktare was different. He was a brave, selfless leader, and he gave off the impression of being incredibly wise. Arrogance was not the right word, though Väktare certainly had confidence in his abilities.

The others went silent, lost in whatever thoughts they were facing. Spyro rested his head on the ground, lost in a sea of doubt and shame. He felt like he'd betrayed Cynder, leaving without warning her, and now look at the mess he'd gotten himself into. His soul ached unbearably to be resting in bed with her, feeling the warmth of her scales nestled against his. Hardship had constantly been surrounding them lately, though all of that seemed to vanish when she was with him. And something about sleeping beside her was his absolute favorite. One of the most soothing activities, shared with the dragoness he loved, made it his ultimate source of peace.

"You miss her, don't you?" Elora asked softly.

Spyro turned his head toward her painstakingly and lowered his eyes, unable to speak. Cynder would be heartbroken to know Elora was locked up too. They'd become so close after the Grublin War.

Elora nodded to herself. "We _will _get out of this."

Spyro tried to smile against his binding, hardly able to curl his mouth.

Elora smirked, slightly amused. "You dork."

It felt good to be reunited with his friend. War had an act for splitting up people who cared for one another, and Elora had unfortunately fallen victim to that. Right as things began to unfold with the Pillari, he had lost connection with his friends outside of Warfang: Sheila, Hunter, whom he rarely saw, Bianca, Stealth Elf, and so many others. Even Sparx had been difficult to stay in touch with, and they were _brothers. _

_I wonder how he's doing_, Spyro thought. It had been quite a few days since he'd last seen him. Sparx often tried to stay away from the battle, so it was always a surprise when he did show up in Warfang for a few days.

Now, meeting these three new individuals in the same predicament as he was, he realized even more how many wonderful creatures there were in the world, and that their lives were in terrible danger the longer the Pillarian War raged on. His number one priority after finding a way out of his captivity was to recapture Callum: their most important asset to ending the war. He'd have completely lost the trail by now, being chained up for an entire night, but somewhere, _somewhere_ there had to be a trail: and he was going to find it.

* * *

Spyro woke up with a start, a plate of food nearly being dropped on his head. An awful stench quickly filled his nostrils from a thin slice of stale, moldy bread and a piece of meat from a mystery animal which had without question been sitting out for a few days.

Spyro looked up at the opossum who had served him the despicable "meal" to find he was a rather brutish sort, his shoulders far broader than that of any other opossum he'd seen. Then again, he hadn't seen too many. Regardless, the same, yellow teeth peeked through the opossum's lips, yet his face radiated an aura of stupidity rather than intimidation. Spyro gave him a sarcastic look, raising one of his eyebrows far about his eye.

_And I'm supposed to eat this food _how, _you imbecile? _Spyro mocked. His internal question clearly didn't register right away as the opossum stared back at him with a dumbfounded look. Finally, after a few _long _moments, the opossum's face lit up.

"Oh! Your ssnoot is locked. Hold on," the opossum barked up. Quickly, he ran out of the tent with a heavy, unbalanced trod. "Yo, bosss!" he called, "How'ss the purple guy ssuppossed to eat with the collar around his nosse?" Spyro heard a distant groan.

"Oh, for the love of…" another opossum replied. "Jusst drop it in front of him, Heimsskur, he'll figure it out."

Heimskur looked back to Spyro then out again, scratching his ear. "But bosss, he can't open his mou-"

"Heimsskur! Ahuizotl almighty, jusst give him the damn food!" Heimskur's boss roared back.

Heimskur continued to shift his gaze between Spyro and his supposed boss. Finally, he heard an exasperated groan from outside the tent. Suddenly, another opossum barged into the tent and shouldered Heimskur out of the way. Spyro, without even seeing him clearly, recognized him immediately.

This opossum had two ratty bandages wrapped around his head, covering his left eye. Bandages which looked like they'd been bled through multiple times.

_Oh no_, Spyro thought. It was the opossum he'd blinded the night before, though he wasn't sure which one he was from the names he'd heard before the fight.

The scar-eyed opossum stomped his way over to Spyro and withdrew a small key from his belt. Before Spyro could get a good look at it, the opossum kicked him hard across the face with the heel of his metal boot. Spyro's headache returned instantly. Through the pain, he couldn't even react as he felt the clamp around his mouth be unfastened and removed swiftly. Had he not been rammed in the face seconds before, he could've unleashed one of his elements, but the opossum was too fast. Before Spyro could react, the opossum grabbed the slab of meat and jammed it down Spyro's gullet, gagging him.

As swiftly as he'd removed the clamp, he stamped on Spyro's nose, sealing his jaws, and slid the clamp back on, fastening it as Spyro choked on his food. Spyro coughed behind closed jaws, gasping for air through his nostrils. The meat was _horrible_. It tasted like it had been drenched in urine before being served to him, and the texture was like that of animal fat.

Elora immediately chimed in. "You _disgusting creature_, you're going to choke him to death!"

The scar-eyed opossum turned to her, pointing with a grim claw. "You ssnap that trap shut or I'll sskin you alive." Elora made to speak again before being abruptly cut off by his vicious, bloodthirsty gaze. "_Do not tesst me._"

Elora looked to Spyro with a concerned look as he continued to choke down the meat. Finally, the horrific meal he'd been served slid down his throat, and he managed to gain control over his breathing once more.

The scar-eyed opossum grinned menacingly at Spyro. "Believe me, _drek_, there'ss more where that came from after that little sstunt you pulled on me lasst night." He turned away from Spyro sharply, marching out of the tent, but not before stopping in front of Heimskur. "Do not bore me with ssuch ssimple quesstions again, Heim." He jabbed his finger into Heimskur's chest. "_Do you undersstand me?" _

Heimskur nodded nervously. "Yess, misster Römlut, ssir."

_Römlut_, Spyro thought. _So, that's who it is_. He remembered hearing his name the night before, when he'd been swarmed. He also very clearly remembered hearing Römlut scream under his tailblade. _He may be threatening, but he's not invincible_.

Römlut stormed out of the tent with Heimskur following dopily behind him. Väktare chimed in only moments later.

"You okay, purple? Geesh, I could smell that meat from here." Spyro gave him a sideways look over his shoulder with a raised brow. Väktare chuckled. "Alright, I'll take that as a no."

"Well, I must say, Spyro, you certainly know how to anger the wrong people," Elskaðir added.

Spyro looked to her, furrowing his brow curiously.

Elskaðir sighed and gestured to the entrance with her head. "That opossum, whom you've so happily managed to blind and make hate you, happens to have picked up a nickname from the previous prisoners here." Spyro stared back, intrigued. "They call him Römlut the skinner, or scaler in your case, for..." she cut herself off and looked to Cylar, who returned her gaze with youthful curiosity. "...reasons," she finished. Cylar smiled back innocently. "Let's just say he's someone you normally wouldn't want to mess with, and you managed to become first on his hitlist in one night. You truly are amazing, aren't you?"

_Perfect_, Spyro thought, _just what I needed to make this experience even more enjoyable. _He wanted to know more, but his maw restraint was becoming infuriating.

"Are we in trouble?" Cylar asked timidly.

"No!" Elskaðir responded, seemingly louder than she'd planned. Cylar jumped back a bit in surprise. She cleared her throat. "No," she began again, softer this time. "You're going to be completely fine. Your family is coming for you."

Again, that struck Spyro as difficult to believe. He wanted to believe these opossums would keep their word when there was a promise of payment on the table, but something gnawed at him. They seemed more the type to murder the payers and rob them of everything. Where else would that one opossum have gotten those royal robes?

Cylar was in more danger than he knew, and it was likely the others knew it too, though maybe they held onto the hope that the opossums truly would accept payment and be on their way. Either way, it was further motivation to figure out an escape route. He was running out of time.

_Römlut took my collar off to make me eat, though it's unlikely he'd try that again. The only reason that worked was because he caught me off guard. _Spyro stopped himself, realizing a pattern in their attacks.

While the opossums were undeniably good fighters, it seemed one of their real strengths was mastery of the unexpected. Twice, within a matter of twelve hours, they had gained an advantage over Spyro simply due to their expertise of catching their enemy off guard. Heck, as far as Spyro knew, that squirrel that had bolted out of the bushes the night before could've been one of their tricks. Spyro would have to be much more attuned to their every move from now on, not letting his guard down for even a second.

_The only thing free is my tail, but I doubt it can cut through these chains. _Spyro raised it to the metal links before stopping himself again. _No, it's not even worth trying, not worth dulling the blade over. _

"I know," Elora spoke up. Spyro felt a jolt down his spine, too lost in his own trance to expect anyone to start speaking to him. "You're planning too, as I have been. These opossums are smart though: I've been here for almost two weeks and I can't seem to figure out any kind of routine whatsoever. The only predictable thing about them is that they are unpredictable. Plus, they constantly switch out guards so you can't figure out any one particular weakness in a certain guard."

_Well, that certainly makes things more difficult, _Spyro thought. _Come on, there _has _to be a way out of this_. _There always is_. Though his thoughts resonated confidently in his head, he felt the hope draining in him more and more.

Suddenly, he got a horrendous feeling in his stomach. Not so much a sickness, which could very well be a result of the meat he'd just been forced to scarf down. No, it was something more. It was an ominous knot he felt tearing in his gut, like something horrendous was about to take place. He looked to Elora the same time he heard approaching footsteps.

The same opossum from earlier, dressed in his flashy blue robes, entered the tent, this time accompanied by two guards. The guards bore spears that matched them in height, with jagged tips that looked like they could tear right through bone. The flashy opossum marched between his troops and halted directly in front of Elora.

"It'ss time, Elosa," he growled.

Elora groaned. "Oh, for goodness sake. It's _E...lo...ra_, you idiot." Spyro wanted to believe this was her typical playful attitude coming through, but there was a hint of fear in her voice that he could sense she was covering up. Spyro looked to Elora, then to the opossums, then back to Elora. Her fingers were trembling.

_Oh no, _Spyro thought. His feelings had just been realized. Elora's life was in serious trouble, and he could do nothing but watch.

"What'ss it gonna be, faunesss?" he continued, licking his teeth. His beady eyes stared lifelessly down at her, almost tearing her soul from her.

"You keep your filthy paws off of her, Kóngur!" Elskaðir piped up from across the tent. Once more, she tore viciously at her chains, more violently than before.

Kóngur ignored her completely, his gaze unwavering from Elora. Elora stared back fiercely.

"I would rather _hang_," she growled back, spitting at his feet.

He glared at her fiercely, clenching his paws. In an uncomfortably quick pace, all of the tension in Kóngur's body released and he suddenly became extremely calm, with an almost pleasant look on his face.

"Well, my dear, we are tired of waiting for your people to give uss an ansswer," he stated calmly. Before she could retort, he raised his paw and snapped once to his guards, then pointed to her. Immediately, the guards exploded into action, marching to her with their spears drawn. One of them went to unfasten her, while the other held a spear to her throat.

"Don't you _dare_ point that thing at me!" Elora barked, writhing her shoulders frantically, trying to get at the guard behind her. All at once, the chain which binded her to the pole was undone and the guard behind her grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her forward. Her wrists and ankles were still bound together though, rendering her unable to fight nor catch herself. She fell hard on her face and let out a pained whimper.

Elskaðir continued to tear at her chains, screaming at the opossums. Väktare was shouting commands, trying to stand, but to no avail. Cylar was curled in a ball, hiding under his wings, terrified.

"Up! Get up I ssay!" the guard with the spear pointed at her bellowed. Almost on cue the guard from behind grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to her knees. Elora didn't give up though. As the guard from behind her held his grip on her hair, she yanked her head forward, gritting her teeth before throwing her head back directly into his groin. He immediately dropped his spear and fell to the ground, clutching himself.

Elora tried to stand to her feet but was cracked hard in the face with the spear handle, bloodying her nose. She let out a cry. Spyro writhed like a maniac, trying desperately to break free from his bindings and reopening all his wounds. Fire began to build within him, which he forced himself to hold back. With no way to release it, he'd end up charring the inside of his throat. The other prisoners screamed in protest at the display of brutality.

Kóngur advanced toward her and kneed her hard in the gut. She fell to the ground in agony.

"_Do your jobss and get her under control!" _he screamed at his guards. The unscathed one burst into action while the other one had trouble even rising to his feet. Just as the unscathed guard got a paw around her shoulder, Spyro heard a cry from outside the tent.

"Masster Kóngur, ssir! You're needed immediately!" the unnamed voice yelled.

Kóngur groaned angrily. "In a minute, you idiot! I'm in the middle of ssomething here!"

The unnamed voice retorted. "I'm ssorry, ssir, but thiss can't wait!"

The guards both looked to Kóngur while Elora wept helplessly on the ground. Kóngur held both paws to his head in frustration before grunting angrily. He looked to Elora with no remorse, then out toward the tent entrance.

He knelt down to her and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look at him. "Thiss issn't over, _Elora_." A twinge of fear ran down Spyro's spine: Kóngur had said her name correctly, and somehow that made him so much more intimidating. "_Lock her back up_," he growled to his guards. Quickly, they dragged her back to the pole and chained her before she could get her fight back. In one swift motion, Kóngur twirled his robe as he turned toward the entrance, accompanied by his bodyguards. Spyro was almost certain he saw the one Elora had gotten a good hit on limp out the entranceway.

He looked to Elora, who was doubled over in pain from the blows she'd received. Her nose was bleeding profusely, while a bruise had formed under her left eye. It was a heartbreaking sight to look at. He tried to get her attention, but she was too engulfed in pain to notice his gestures.

Suddenly, Spyro heard a cheer from outside.

"You didn't! You actually caught one!" the voice of Kóngur screamed. "How on Earth-? You know what, no. This calls for celebration! Who _knows _what we can get for this one?!" A loud assembly of cheers filled the air. "Go lock him up immediately and then hurry back here! You, crack out the Nagdýrian ale!"

Spyro's curiosity spiked. Who could possibly be a more valuable prisoner than him? The slow, labored sound of a body being dragged across the grass began to creep closer and closer. The closer it got, the faster Spyro's heart raced. The other prisoners seemed just as attentive. Even Elora managed to slightly regain her composure to observe the newcomer.

Three dark figures became an outline in the entryway: two of them stood upright, dragging an unconscious figure by his shoulders into the tent. The sun was nearly completely set, so it was difficult to see, but Spyro quickly realized they were going to place the new prisoner directly to his right.

Closer and closer they approached, and Spyro still couldn't make out who it was. A few trickles of sunset light peeked through the entranceway, casting speckled light all around him. The figures were nearly on top of him when Spyro's stomach dropped. His blood froze, his eyes widened in pure shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. That was no ordinary prisoner being dragged unconsciously in front of him.

It was Callum.

* * *

**Thank you all for checking out my story. This was an especially fun chapter to write with the implementation of other tribe members and the foreshadowing of characters to appear later on. **

**If you enjoyed what you read, you can let me know by hitting the FOLLOW and FAVORITE button. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments as both positive and constructive criticism is highly encouraged. Destructive negativity will be disregarded.**

**And, most importantly, I pray for everyone to stay safe during this turbulent time. COVID-19 will be beaten, it is only a matter a time. All we have to do as individuals is to do everything we can to stay healthy. You've got this. **

**Bless,**

**Joshua **


	8. Eight

**Behold, chapter eight lies before us. **

**Onward!**

* * *

Spyro's eyes widened in shock; every muscle in his body tensed as his heart pounded heavily against his chest. He hadn't lost Callum's trail-Callum had stumbled onto _his,_ and was now on his way to be chained directly to Spyro's right. The sole reason Spyro was in this mess would be trapped a mere distance from him in a matter of moments.

Spyro felt as if he could explode out of his bindings in a fiery rage, watching his target being dragged lifelessly in front of him. The guards dragging him were the same two who had accompanied Kongúr only minutes earlier, and the same two who had dared lay their dirty claws upon Elora. While Callum had earned the first spot on Spyro's current hit list, those two were only a claw's length behind him.

The guards came to a halt in front of the rod, throwing the unconscious human to the ground by his shoulders. Callum dropped heavily onto the grass, unable to catch himself in his current state. Spyro quickly noticed that Mason's ankle bracelet was bound tightly around Callum's left ankle, continuing to render him unable to use any of his dark magic.

_Good, _Spyro thought, relieved. That would make any potential fight considerably easier. However, having Callum here was forcing him to completely reconsider his plan of escape. Previously, Spyro had only had to focus on figuring out a route for him and his friends, who would naturally stay together. But, now that Callum was here, that complicated things.

_I have to get him out of here as well, but at the same time make sure he doesn't bolt the first chance he gets_, he began to work out. _How am I supposed to keep him with me the_ whole _way back to Warfang? _The obvious answer would be to carry the human on his back and fly. But, with his right wing completely torn to shreds, Spyro couldn't even fly _himself_ back, let alone another person.

Come to think of it, Spyro hadn't even begun to consider how much of a hindrance his inability to fly would be. From here on out, his entire journey would have to be on his own four paws, which would more than double his travel time. Once again, the fact that he had left without bringing Cynder came back to bite him hard. Had she been there to back him up in the first place, the opossums would have never been able to capture him and his wing would've been spared. Then again, perhaps it was fate that caused Callum to be captured as well, practically delivering him into Spyro's grasp.

The guards seemed to have their own harsh feelings about Callum, judging by how aggressively they tugged at his arms and legs. One of the guards handed his spear to his buddy and grabbed Callum by his ankles, dragging him so his legs faced the pole. In a flash, Callum's wrists and ankles were clamped inside the all-too-familiar restraints. While the last ankle restraint was being clasped on, one of the opossums inspected Callum's ankle bracelet for a moment, giving it a suspicious look. He slowly ran his crooked fingers over it and inspected it from every angle. In only a few short moments, it seemed as though he had completed his mediocre investigation, shrugging off his curiosity. As the opossum stepped away from Callum, Spyro was able to get a closer look at the ankle bracelet as well, quickly noticing upon further inspection that the bracelet had been damaged.

_He's been trying to break it, _Spyro thought. By the looks of it, with the several scratches and chips littering the sleek metal band, Callum had tried bashing it with a stone or something which, of course, had ended unsuccessfully for him. The bracelet turned out to be just as foolproof as Mason had broadcasted it to be. Time and time again, brute force proved to be no match for Mason's personal inventions, which were always constructed with the most careful precision and care.

In addition to the bracelet, Spyro noticed that both of Callum's arms were still wrapped in the same bandages he'd been treated with in Warfang, though his left arm looked a bit off ever since Spyro had broken it against a tree. On top of that, the bandages on his right arm were far from clean. Mason had managed to slow the bleeding, but Ember had shredded the daylights out of Callum's arm. It was a miracle he hadn't bleed out, judging by how long they'd waited for Spyro to cauterize the wound. The scars would be nasty after it fully healed.

Though Callum had without question been messing with the bracelet, he'd proven to be smart enough to leave the bandages untouched. However, he'd removed the small patches formerly dotting his throat, when Ember had had his neck in her jaws. And, with his face angled toward Spyro, Spyro noticed the injuries they'd given him back in Warfang: the bruise under his left eye from Spenna and the awful gashes from Cynder's claws across his entire face which looked as if they would never fully heal. Callum was in a horrible condition.

With a proud snort, one of the opossums jerked his head toward the entranceway, signalling for the other to accompany him, though the other hesitated to leave.

"He'ss not dead, iss he?" he asked, kicking Callum with his metal boot. The other kneeled to the ground, leaning on his jagged spear, and placed two fingers on Callum's neck to check his pulse.

The other shook his head after a moment, rising to his paws. "No, he'ss jusst out cold. Lookss like they did quite a number on him," he chuckled.

"He better wake up," the first opossum growled, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Would be a shame for all that helmi to go to wasste."

"He _will_. Now, will you come on? There'ss celebrating to be done!" his buddy called, already out the entranceway. His partner joined him quickly after taking one last look at Callum, slithering out of the tent with his tail creeping behind him in the grass.

Spyro hadn't taken his eyes off Callum the entire time, fearing the unrealistic notion that the second he turned away from him would give Callum a chance to slip away again.

"Faunus almighty," Elora muttered under her breath. "That's a Pillarian."

"They actually managed to capture a _Pillarian_," Elskaðir echoed to herself, her mouth agape in shock. "Geez, if they thought they were going to make a profit from you, Spyro, I can't even _imagine_ what they'll charge for this one."

"Nor whom they will try to sell him to," Väktare continued. "This will no doubt turn into a bidding war."

That struck a chord with Spyro. Callum was _his _prisoner. Well, technically Warfang's, but he'd made Callum his responsibility. Spyro growled deep in his throat, stabbing his tail into the ground behind him furiously.

Elora jumped back with a shock. "What?! What is your problem?!"

Spyro threw his head toward her, his face etched with a hard glare. He motioned fiercely with his head toward Callum, trying to explain the human's importance through useless facial expressions.

Elora's face became clouded in bewilderment. "Uh..." Spyro bared his teeth, ignoring the stabbing pain from his restraint. Thin wisps of smoke creeped through the gaps in his fangs. Elora shook her head, raising her hands hopelessly. "Spyro, I don't understand what you're trying to say, I'm sorry." She huffed. "We need to get that _stupid _thing off your face so I can talk to you."

Spyro growled once more. _It's no use,_ he thought, seething in annoyance. He wanted to tear the clamp off his nose, regardless of how many of his scales would be torn off. His snout was throbbing, and he felt like he was trying to breathe through a small tube. Spyro turned his attention back toward Callum, who unsurprisingly hadn't moved an inch. He almost looked dead, if not for the gradual rising and falling of his back as he lay motionless.

Not much had changed about him since Spyro had last seen him at the Dragon Temple. Callum still hadn't managed to find any shoes and his white tunic was tattered, far more than it had been back in Warfang. He was certainly filthier as well, having taken a swim in the Borg River and being dragged across the dirt to the opossums' camp for ancestors know how long.

Every ounce in Spyro's being wanted to tear Callum to shreds for all he'd put him through, though at the same time keeping him alive would be the only way to get any answers out of him. Callum had an act for being far too secretive and cryptic, and it was really getting on Spyro's nerves. _Us_, Spyro remembered, the whole reason he had decided to visit Callum in the first place. Beyond that, the questions began piling up. In terms of what had occurred most recently, how on Earth had Callum been captured? It seemed so unlike him to have fallen victim to a band of lowlifes. Callum had certainly proven to be crafty, but was he craftier than the opossums?

Upon Callum's arrival, Spyro's escape had become more crucial than ever. There were far too many things resting upon his shoulders at this point: Elora's life, rescuing the other prisoners, and now escorting Callum back to Warfang to stand trial for his crimes. Failure was not an option.

Outside the tent, it was an overwhelming wave of laughter, applause, and gleeful screaming. The opossums seemed to have placed all their financial faith in their newest prisoner. It was true Callum was a top helmi prisoner, and Spyro was more than eager to spoil their celebration. With all the background noise, it was the perfect time to launch an escape plan. The most difficult part, however, was that he couldn't rally the other prisoners. His only hope was that with Elora's near-death experience, they'd naturally up their pace to break free.

"_Guys,_" Elskaðir whispered, hissing loudly over the celebratory ambience coming from outside the tent. "This is our chance to escape. They're too busy celebrating to notice us."

Elora's face lit up and she quickly turned to face the rod behind her, digging her hooves deep into the ground and pulling at the chain with all her strength. Desperately, she tore harder at the chain with her bound hands until the grass under her hooves gave way. As the grass caved in, her legs gave out from under her, sending her falling hard on her hip. In a rage, she grabbed the dirt that had been pulled up with her restrained hands and chucked it hard against the wall of the tent.

"Gah! What is this stupid thing made of?!" she growled, kicking the rod with her hoof.

Elskaðir had been inspecting the construction of her restraints when she stopped suddenly, taking note of Cylar next to her. "Cylar, what are doing?"

Cylar was digging furiously around the pole with his tiny blue claws, pulling up tiny sprays of dirt. "Trying to dig it out. Maybe we can get out that way?" Elskaðir and Elora traded glances and dug as well, throwing up miniscule amounts of dirt. Spyro suspected it would be a futile effort: the dirt was packed tightly and incredibly hard, mixed with rock. Digging wouldn't be an option, but at this point they had to try everything.

Elskaðir banged her head on the rod after awhile, clearly winded, and noticed that Väktare wasn't doing anything. "You planning on joining us in this little kumbaya any time soon?"

He chuckled in response, his shoulders bouncing heavily. "I would prefer to save my strength versus carrying out a reckless escape plan."

Elora stopped digging and gave him a scolding look. "You're not even going to _try_ to break loose?" She held her hands up in frustration. "Väktare, you could tear this rod out of the ground in one swoop, or dig it up in a couple of minutes with paws your size. C'mon, we need your help!"

The royal bear shook his monstrous head. "I'm sorry, Elora, but that's not true. These rods have been cemented deep into the earth, and no amount of tugging or digging will get them out. Believe me, I've been here longer than any of you and seen many creatures try, even some larger than myself." Cylar hung his head in disappointment.

Elskaðir slumped back against the rod with an exasperated sigh. "Then what do you suggest we do, Mr. Bear Almighty, since everything we've done is so useless?"

A confident and noble grin stretched across Väktare's face. "While I admire all of your efforts, you've completely neglected to take into account the matter of unbinding your arms and legs. So you successfully remove the rod, then what?"

Elora scoffed. "I don't know, we improvise!" she shouted, the outside celebration nearly drowning her out. They were getting rowdier out there. A confused look crossed her face. "You know, Väktare, you came here to observe, but how _exactly_ did you plan on breaking out of here when you were done?"

"Ah," Väktare held up his hands, "an excellent question. You see, the officials of the eight bear tribes have put on a fake bidding war for my safety in order to deceive the opossums that they have more and more helmi coming in. So, the longer they keep me alive, the more they think they will earn from my capture." He eased back in comfort with an arrogant grin plastered onto his face. "I've never been in any _actual _danger."

"Okay," Elora jumped in, "but you didn't answer my question. How were you ever going to get out of here if the bidding war was just going to keep raging on endlessly?"

"Why, when a price is finally to be decided upon, the bears will come retrieve me," Väktare answered confidently.

"But how could you _possibly_ know when that would be? Or that the opossums wouldn't kill you beforehand?" Elora asked with a hint of annoyance underlying her tone.

"Or that the opossums wouldn't kill and rob the dead bodies of your so-called '_rescuers'_ just to get more than they asked for?" Elskaðir joined in bitterly.

Väktare snorted. "Oh, please, the opossums would never cross the bears like that. They aren't _that _foolish. They know what would happen if they tried to assassinate me-the _guardian_ of the eight bloody bear tribes-or _any_ of my companions for that matter."

Elskaðir's tail lashed furiously. "So you're just going to sit there on the _assumption _that you're this 'untouchable being,' while all four…" She looked to Callum and rolled her eyes. "...I guess five of us are fighting for our lives? We need to get out of here _tonight_ because unlike you, Mr. High-and-Mighty, we don't have all the time in the word to twiddle our thumbs and relish in our wealth without a care in the world." She bore her fangs then tore at the pole chain. "I _refuse _to be locked to this _damn...pole..._a second longer!"

Tears welled up in Elora's eyes. "Väktare, they were going to _kill me_! The _only _reason I'm still alive is because of _luck_! And...I hate to say it…" A vicious sneer crept onto her face. "...because of..._that..._being brought in." She pointed furiously to Callum, who still lay unconscious on his stomach.

Väktare bowed his head. "My deepest condolences, Elora, as it pains me to think of such a fate befalling you. But, such is the way of life. Some things cannot be controlled, that is unless there is an excess of coin. Coin is the only thing that can truly influence fate. The less fortunate creatures fall victim to their poverty sooner or later, while the rich continue to flourish."

Spyro was beginning to understand why the dragons had never successfully managed to formulate a peace agreement between the bears: their ideals were absolutely absurd. They truly were just as arrogant and delusional from their wealth and apparent superiority as the rumors foretold. Though he'd never admit it out loud, Spyro was thankful the dragons weren't close allies with them. The bears were proving to be a difficult tribe to reason with. And, the fact that they had so much helmi to spare in order to bargain with Väktare's life not only revealed how impossibly wealthy they were, but that they were incredibly careless with their coin.

As they continued to argue amongst themselves, Spyro came to a dawning realization, one that he'd been toying with the entire time the others had been arguing. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Spyro turned his head toward Callum. As much as it made him want to explode admitting such a horrible thing, the one person that would be able to figure a way out of this situation was lying right next to him.

One of Spyro's greatest enemies had proven he knew how to think outside the box when he'd managed to break out of a prison built by the _moles_: a prison that was supposed to eliminate all hope of escape. Spyro _did not_ want Callum's help in any stretch of the imagination, but at this point it seemed they had no choice.

_I _have _to wake him up, _Spyro thought, clenching his talons. He was bound tighter than a boat tied to a harbor, so maneuvering would be a challenge. But, Callum looked to be _just_ in reach of his tail: the only part of Spyro's body he could relatively move without restraint.

Spyro stretched his tail out as far as he could, reaching only millimeters away from Callum's bound hands. No one seemed to notice what he was trying to do as the arguing amongst themselves intensified. Spyro reached desperately for Callum but to no avail, each time grazing the grass nestled around Callum's fingers. Again and again he tried, only succeeding in trimming the grass. Watching his tailblade continuously slice through the grass caused him to stop suddenly.

_What am I doing?_ he growled. _Even if I _do _manage to reach him I might accidentally cut his fingertips off. _He pounded his head against the grass. _C'mon, think, Spyro!_

Spyro snapped out of his mental scolding and drew back with a shock as his snout suddenly became covered with a light flurry of snowflakes. Spyro snorted the flakes away, shaking his chilled snout. He looked to the opening in the roof to check the weather before realizing where the snow had truly come from.

At the far side of the tent, Cylar was up on his feet in a determined stance, preparing to release another rush of ice breath. Before Spyro or anyone else could get the young dragon's attention, Cylar released another whisper of his ice element. Weak and untrained, but it was a start. From his jaws came a thin trail of icy wind wisping and twirling through the air. Clearly trying to aim for Callum, Cylar missed once again, coating Spyro's right arm in brisk winter residue. Hiding his frustration and discomfort, Spyro managed to get Cylar's attention by waving his tail around. Cylar halted his next attempt and looked to Spyro with curious icy blue eyes.

_He needs training, _Spyro thought. _But, maybe I can help him_? As best he could, Spyro tried to indicate to Cylar the concept of channeling his element through his paws in order to create a more focused shot. Cylar angled his head in confusion. No one else spoke during their unspoken exchange.

Cylar looked to his paws inquisitively as Spyro continued to attempt communication. Icy mist began to emanate from Cylar's jaws as he shifted his gaze from Spyro, to Callum, then to his own paws. Spyro couldn't tell if he'd gotten his message across, but Cylar no longer looked to him and prepared for another breath only this time, he paused beforehand. Closing his icy blue eyes, he took a deep, focused breath.

After a moment of apparent meditation, Cylar snapped his eyes open and reared up his paws. More and more mist began to float from his jaws accompanied by the brightest blue glow Spyro had seen from him yet. In an explosion of tiny power, Cylar slammed his forelegs into the ground and a thin trail of ice cracked through the ground traveling toward Callum at lightning speed. The ice trail glowed a whitish-blue glow and froze each blade of grass it touched. In the blink of an eye, it reached Callum and coated his right shoulder and the right side of his neck in a thin sheet of ice.

Cylar fell back on his haunches, completely bewildered at what he'd just done. Elskaðir and Elora traded glances in complete shock. Even Väktare gave an impressed, though subdued, look.

"Cylar," Elskaðir began slowly, "when did you learn to do that?"

"I thought dragons your age couldn't use their element yet!" Elora shouted excitedly before stopping suddenly. "Wait, how old are you?"

"I'm four," he replied, curling his tail in, embarrassed. "I've been able to use it for a while but I didn't want the opossums to know." He looked to Spyro's mouth clamp empathetically.

"Why did you use it on that Pillarian, young dragon?" Väktare asked analytically.

Cylar shied away from him. "Well, I s-saw Spyro trying to wake him up and I th-thought I could help," he replied nervously. All eyes turned to Spyro who showed no sign of doubt in his actions.

Before anyone could question Spyro, Callum began to twitch, the ice beginning to send chills throughout his body. Little by little, Callum's shifting intensified, and he subconsciously reached for the ice freezing his neck and shoulder. A few short moments later, Callum shivered violently and rolled over onto his left side, slapping his bound hands to the ice.

"What the h-hell is th-this?" he gasped. At first glance, it was difficult to tell which surprised him more: the ice on his neck and shoulder, or the fact that his hands were bound together. Trembling incessantly from the cold, he scraped hard at the ice with his hands, watering the grass below him. Having removed most of the ice from himself, he turned his head in Spyro's direction and immediately locked eyes with him. Callum jumped back in shock and gasped. They stared at one another in a mixture of confusion and rage.

_Hey, you, _Spyro thought, smoke billowing out his nostrils.

"Spyro?" Callum asked, squinting his eyes in disbelief. "What the-" he looked around the tent to find a bear, a faun, a fox, and another dragon looking at him. Fear, anger, judgement, and hatred were all etched on their faces. Callum looked up to the skylight in the roof, the moonbeams just barely peeking down into the tent.

No one knew what to say, staring seemed the only possible response. Spyro knew the others wouldn't know about Callum's craftiness, and likely couldn't predict his usefulness in their current dilemma. But, he guessed that Callum would possess the natural drive to break out on his own like he'd done in Warfang, proving his usefulness rather than speaking of it.

Callum looked down at his restraints, brushing off the harsh looks he was receiving from the others. "Good grief. Break out of one prison and end up in another," he muttered under his breath.

"You! _Pillarian filth_. If you've got any sense at all, you'll lie there quietly and not interfere with our affairs," Elskaðir growled.

Bewilderment contorted across Callum's face. "Interfere with your-? I don't even know what's going on right now! If you didn't notice there, Foxie, I just got blasted with ice, which I can only assume came from you, Blue, judging by the trail of ice." He nodded to Cylar, who curled up terrified under his wings.

"Spyro, why were you trying to wake him up?" Elora whispered, fear underlying her tone. "We could've escaped and _left him here._"

"Oh, how thoughtful of you," Callum sassed Elora, overhearing her words. "Let me sleep in for a few hours then leave me to die. How nice of you."

"It's what you _deserve,_ _creature_!" Elora screamed, leafy green fury flashing through her irises. Callum appeared to have completely ignored her, judging by the way he was now muttering to himself. As much as Spyro hated to admit it, he was a bit curious to see what Callum would come up with. Spyro leaned in a bit, trying to pick up what Callum was saying, though it was so quick that it was difficult to keep up.

Callum turned his wrists over, holding them close to his face, studying his bindings intently. "Let's see: restraints made from folded talconium encasing a four-pinned heikko lock. Indestructible from the outside, though the interior could be weakened with moisture." Callum ran his hands over the soil. "Wet from that ice dragon's element, though not enough to make a difference on these things." He shrugged. "Well, moisture is easy enough to come by." Callum held the key hole to his lips and spit into it.

Disgust and outrage enveloped Elskaðir's face. "What in the name of Inari are you doing, _human_?"

Callum ceased his muttering for a moment and looked to her. "It's Callum, thank you very much. And if you don't mind, I'm trying to get out of here."

"_By spitting into the keyhole?" _Elskaðir chided. "You can't be serious."

Callum immediately jumped right back into ignoring everyone, searching the ground intently. "Come on, there has to be _something_." His eyes darted curiously around the room before landing on Elora's chest.

Elora covered herself up, immediately offended. "Um, do you _mind?!" _

Callum rolled his eyes and groaned. "I'm not _checking you out_. You're wearing a thin necklace, aren't you?"

Spyro looked for himself and realized he hadn't noticed it before. There wasn't much to it: just a thin strip of rock cut into the shape of a thick needle, looped through and tied around Elora's neck with some kind of sturdy brown thread.

Elora lay a hand over her necklace without averting her gaze. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Throw it to me, I can use it to get out of these," Callum answered, reaching his hands out.

Elora's eyes widened as she clasped both her hands over the necklace protectively. "Absolutely not! This was a gift from my mother!"

Callum's face changed to one of sincerity. "I promise you it _will not _break, and you _will _get it back."

She scoffed. "Your promises mean _nothing_ to me, _human_." Callum tried to say something before Elora swiftly cut him off. "Yeah, okay, so you break out. Then, you know what happens? You bolt for the entrance and leave us for dead. That sound about right?" Callum opened his mouth once more, only to be met with Elora's wrath. "You are _not _getting this necklace, you _demon_!"

Callum extended his hands out further in desperation. "C'mon, faun! We don't have time to-"

"It's..._Elora_," she growled back at him in a tone Spyro had never heard from her. Her voice managed to send chills down Spyro's spine.

Even Callum jumped back in surprise before bowing his head. "Elora...I apologize." He took a deep breath and changed his tone. "Look, I don't know how long you've all been here, but these opossums are _bad news_."

"Yeah, we're aware of that," Elskaðir cut him off, snarkily. "Got anything new to share, furless?"

"I can _get these off_ if you just trust me!" Callum pleaded.

Elskaðir laughed mockingly. "Trust a _human_? Now _that's _a funny joke."

"Look, I get it, okay!" Callum yelled. "I'm a big, bad Pillarian. There's no time for that! All of us are going to die if we don't break out of here, and they're completely distracted right now! Look, I know you don't know me, but for _fuck's sake_ we don't have time to argue about this!" Spyro thought he saw Callum's eyes become misty before he fiercely blinked it away. "Elora..._please_! I have to-" he cut himself off, before quickly recovering with a deep breath. "We _can't _stay here," he said urgently.

_There it is again,_ Spyro thought. _He's hiding something. _What was Callum going to say before he cut himself off? More and more mystery was beginning to encapsulate the human, and the questions began to rack up in Spyro's brain.

Elora snarled at him before carefully lifting the necklace over her head with some difficulty. Taking one last look at the necklace, she tossed it to him, watching it every second as it flew through the air. Callum caught it moments later, cupping it quickly in his hands.

Elora watched him like a hawk. "I _swear_ if you break that I will _murder you-"_

"I told you, I will _not_!" Callum yelled. Quickly, he wet it with his mouth and began work on his wrist bindings, driving the necklace into the keyhole that he'd spit into. There didn't seem to be any intricate movements happening; it looked as though he was merely mixing the saliva around the inside of the locking mechanism. Elora winced every time any clicking sound was made.

The process seemed to lag on for several minutes with no apparent progress being made. Callum huffed in frustration, then overturned his hands, shaking the keyhole out over the ground. Spyro didn't notice anything happening until he looked closely, noticing that tiny bits of metal were spilling out onto the ground. On top of that, the restraints sounded like they had broken from the inside, judging by the tiny metal clinks sounding off the walls of the bindings.

Callum wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt, moistened from the intense focus and frustration he was experiencing. Suddenly, and with his hands relatively dry again, he jammed the necklace as hard as he could into the keyhole.

"Careful!" Elora screamed, her voice breaking beneath the weight of her underlying fear.

Callum looked up at her with a confident smirk and twisted his wrists around in an odd fashion as a prominent snap resounded throughout the tent. As if they'd been unlocked with a key, Callum separated his hands from one another. While the individual bindings were still around his wrists, they were no longer restraining both his hands. Now, they just looked like extremely unfashionable bracelets.

Elskaðir's mouth hung agape. "How did you-?"

"You actually-" Elora said at the same time.

"Heikko lock made from folded talconium," Callum filled in. "Strong on the outside, weak on the inside. Just a tiny bit of moisture and patience can weaken the pins in a few minutes. Just enough to break them."

To admit Spyro was impressed would be an incredible understatement. It was a mixture of awe, anger, and fear all mixed into one thunderous emotion.

_Ancestors on high, he's a genius_, Spyro thought. Callum was more than just crafty, he was _wickedly_ intelligent. Spyro felt he was still more powerful than Callum, but was he really smarter? Could he really have defeated Callum during their battle in the Avalarian Forest had his friends not been there? Spyro quickly pushed that line of thinking aside.

Callum locked eyes with Spyro, who stared fiercely with a hard violet gaze. Callum returned his gaze, far from intimidated. It was evident they held the same disdain for one another.

_If you think you're gonna sneak away this time…_ Spyro thought. It was true they all needed Callum's wits to escape, but the second he was free he wasn't going to let Callum out of his sight. Or, better than that, his grasp.

Callum tore his eyes away from Spyro and got to work on separating his ankles. However, they proved to be far more challenging than his wrists being as he couldn't reach his lips to the keyhole. It became a very meticulous pattern: he would wet Elora's necklace with his mouth, then get as much moisture as he could into the keyhole. This was bound to take longer.

The minutes dragged on as Callum repeated the process without speaking. He brought the necklace to his mouth once more when all of a sudden, he froze in place.

"Yeah, bosss told me to go check on 'em, I'll be righ' back. Ssave a drink for me!"

An opossum would surely waltz into the tent within a matter of seconds. Frantically, Callum tossed the necklace back to Elora and held his hands together as if they were still connected. A mere moment later, the opossum slithered into the tent, armed with a wicked spear slightly taller than himself. Elora's observation from earlier had been verified: this was a completely new opossum, meaning they did, in fact, switch out their guards frequently.

Immediately, his eyes landed on Callum. "Well, lookie 'ere. Our meanss o' celebratin' iss awake," he hissed. "Enjoy yer new 'ome, ssavage?"

Callum scoffed. "Savage? You know, you're not too different from me, poss poss, being a black market trader and all."

The opossum marched toward him, spear drawn at his throat. "You watch yer tone, _maggot_. I don'tss give a damn what yousse thinkss. Fact, the way _I _ssee it, I thinkss it'd be more fun to sstarve you out than try to ssell yousse. But, ain't my call." The opossum shrugged. "Take the free drinkss, I willss. Plenty o' celebratin' to'ss be done tonight."

Spyro couldn't tell if the opossum had been drinking or if his manner of speaking was always this dull. It was obnoxious and made Spyro want to bash his head against a wall. As he observed their exchange, Spyro noticed Callum quickly dart his eyes to the keys hanging around the opossum's belt.

An amused grin slithered across the opossum's face. "Ah, you wantss thesse, don't yousse?" The guard patted the keys. "If only yer 'andss weren't bound," he chuckled, still pointing the spear fiercely to Callum's throat.

"Yo, Fuzzy, would you mind not holding that damn spear so close to my throat? You kill a million helmi by accident and they'll skin you alive," Callum taunted.

_One _million _helmi_?! Spyro roared in his head. _They _cannot _be serious! _

Warfang would _never_ agree to pay a sum like that. In fact, almost no one would except perhaps the bears. But what possible use could they have with a Pillarian prisoner? No, it was clear Spyro would have to smuggle Callum back himself. There was always the chance an ally tribe would buy Callum then give him back to the dragons, but it was too risky, and Callum was far too important to lose.

"I can treat yousse however I damn wellss pleassess!" the opossum roared back. "Don't you forget that I'm above yousse, you _worthlesss sswine._"

Callum painted a contemplative look on his face. "Well, then let's even the odds, shall we?" Before the opossum could question him further, Callum pulled his hands apart and grabbed hold of the spear, tearing the opossum toward him. The opossum had no chance to release his firm hold on the spear before stumbling directly on top of Callum.

Callum exploded into action, clocking the opossum twice across the jaw with the metal around both his wrists. The opossum rolled onto his back next to Callum with a pained groan on the second blow. Before he could recover, Callum tore the spear from his paws and jumped on top of him, pinning him to the dirt with his knees.

"Help! Bo-" he tried to yell before Callum grabbed the spear in both hands and held the shaft to the opossum's throat, leaning his entire body weight on it. The opossum thrashed violently, suffocating, trying to shove Callum off of him, but to no avail. After a few moments, the opossum's lids rolled over his eyes and he lay still.

Exhaling, Callum threw the spear to the side and grabbed the keys from the opossum's belt. He focused first on unlocking the actual shackles from his wrists.

"Did you kill him?" Elora asked, shocked at Callum's prowess.

"No, he's just out," Callum answered in a low tone, one of his shackles falling to the ground.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him so he doesn't wake up!" Elskaðir yelled. The outside celebration had intensified in volume, though Spyro continued to fear that their cover would be blown at any moment. Who knew how much time they had before others would show up?

"He _won't _wake up," Callum said determinedly as his other wrist shackle fell with a muffled clunk into the grass. Not pausing for a breath, Callum drove the key into the lock binding his ankles. After a few seconds of struggling, they clicked free and he tore them off hastily. With a satisfied sigh, Callum stood to his feet, causing several pops to sound throughout his body.

He hadn't even taken a step forward before another opossum walked into the tent. "Mate, what is taking you sso long-?" He jumped at the sight of his fallen comrade and the prized human who now stood on his feet. "What the-?!" he cried. Not even a second after the opossum had discovered him, Callum threw the keys to Elora, catching the attention of the guard. As the guard's eyes followed the keys flying through the air, Callum charged at him without hesitation. The opossum drew his sword, surprised at Callum's fearless advance.

Callum was inches from him when the opossum took his first swing, which Callum barely managed to duck under, only to meet a second swing aimed at his shoulder. Callum dodged right and left, unable to catch the guard off balance. The guard swung sporadically, though every swing was within a hair's reach from taking Callum out of commission. Though Callum was able to dodge every swing so far, it was evident he was tiring quickly. Spyro looked to Elora to see that she had managed to get her hands free, wielding the key in her mouth to account for the awkward placement of the keyhole.

It became clear to Spyro that Callum had no intention of winning, only meaning to distract the guard while Elora unlocked herself. A hard crack tore Spyro away from his focus on Elora to see Callum slap a hand to his cheek. The opossum had landed a firm blow with the sword hilt directly under Callum's left eye, only adding to the bruise Spenna had given him back in the Warfang dungeon. Without a moment's hesitation, the opossum stabbed his sword forward, aimed directly at Callum's chest. Callum just barely managed to get his hands up, pushing the sword out of the way though causing both of his palms to be sliced. He stifled a cry as blood trickled through the gaps in his fingers.

Callum doubled over in pain, clenching both his hands. The opossum raised his sword, ready to take a hard swing and seriously injure Callum. Callum prepared to dodge out of the way just as Elora burst out from behind him and tackled the opossum, catching both him and Callum by surprise.

The opossum let out a groan and kicked Elora off of him, scrambling to his feet with his sword at the ready. Giving her no chance to recover, the opossum took a swing at Elora's neck, luckily only cutting the air as she just managed to duck under it. As he was about to take another swing, Elora sprung off the ground and kicked him hard in the gut with both of her hooves. The air exploded out of the opossum's lungs and he fell to his knees, unable to breathe. As he continued to gasp for breath, Elora grabbed his fallen sword by the blade with both hands and struck him hard across the head with the hilt. The opossum fell onto his side, lying unconscious in the grass as his head bled profusely.

Callum opened his hands to inspect the blood: both palms were creased with deep gashes that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Thanks," he winced through clenched teeth.

Elora threw the sword aside and made her way back to the keys she'd left and took to unchaining Cylar next. "I didn't do it for you, _human_, I did it so he wouldn't draw attention to our escape." She wouldn't even meet his eyes.

Callum sighed. "Right," he muttered, not able to tear his eyes away from his bleeding hands. Quickly, he went to the guard Elora had taken out and tore off two long strips from the opossum's tunic sleeves, tying them around both his hands with the help of his teeth.

After Cylar was free, Elora made her way to Väktare. Just as she reached for his bindings, he pulled his hands away.

"No, no my dear, that's quite alright," he replied peacefully.

Elora looked at him like he was insane. "Väktare, give me your hands, we're getting out of here."

Väktare chuckled. "And I wish you all the best of luck, but I shall remain here until my people come for me. To leave prematurely would be to abandon our plan and betray the faith I have in my own."

Elskaðir joined in with Elora. "Väktare! Enough with this 'high-and-mighty' routine! Give her your hands!"

Väktare bowed his head. "While I appreciate all of you caring to rescue me, I need not be rescued. I will leave soon enough, when I feel I have learned all I wish from the opossums."

"How are you supposed to contact your people when you're ready?" Elora asked. "Väktare, this is foolish. The opossums aren't going to play nice like you think they are."

He held his paw to his heart. "I understand how much you all care for my safety, but my decision is final. I shall remain here. I have the ability to contact them whenever I deem necessary using the medallion around my neck. It's been enchanted specifically for long-distance distress signals."

Elskaðir rolled her eyes, though Spyro noticed they were ever so slightly misty. "You old fool."

Elora lay her paw upon his. "Stay safe, alright?" He gave a wise smile, then nodded slowly. Elora hastily wiped the single tear from her cheek then made her way to Elskaðir.

As quickly as she could, she undid Elskaðir's bindings, which fell to the ground with a satisfying clunk. Elskaðir rubbed her hands over her bruised wrists.

Elora drifted her eyes to the cast around Elskaðir's leg. "I'll help you up, just let me free Spyro." Elskaðir nodded, then Elora quickly rushed to Spyro.

Elora started with Spyro's mouth, inserting the key into the painful metal clamp around his jaws. As the lock clicked, Spyro felt a tremendous amount of pressure being lifted off of his snout. He could breathe comfortably again. He almost fainted from the relief.

"Probably feels good to get that stupid thing off you, yes?" Elora asked cheekily.

Spyro flopped his head back onto the ground. "Ancestors, what a relief." Elora quickly saw to his ankles and wrists, that same sensation washing over Spyro. He felt free, and incredibly stiff at the same time, realizing he hadn't moved much since he'd been captured. Finally, Elora unbound his wings. Ignoring the stiffness all throughout his body, he sprung to his paws, extending his wings to full span, and breathed fire over the grass upon which he'd been confined.

His elements had been building within him for hours without relief. They'd been trapped inside of him along with a wave of strong emotions, only intensifying at the sight of Callum showing up. He couldn't resist giving the grass he'd been held captive on a piece of his fiery mind.

Elora rushed to him and tugged at his shoulder. "Spyro!" she whispered loudly, "I know you're excited, but save it for when we're actually free, yeah?"

He realized he was probably being a bit foolish and quickly wiped the childish grin off his face, returning to a more serious state. "Yes, sorry," he apologized, bowing his head.

Elora rolled her eyes with a smirk. "You dork."

It felt so good to be walking again. His legs felt like they'd been trapped in stone. As Spyro stretched his legs out, Elora rushed to Elskaðir's side and threw an arm around her, helping her to her feet. Slowly but surely, Elskaðir limped her way toward the entranceway with Elora guiding her every step. They'd clearly grown close since they'd been captured.

All of the prisoners, except for Väktare, were now free and gathered behind the sides of the entranceway. Cautiously, Elora peeked around the tent folds.

"It's crowded out there," she whispered, hiding behind the dusty fabric. "They're pretty distracted though. If we're careful we should be able to sneak right by them."

Elskaðir turned her head toward Spyro. "Couldn't you make a tunnel for us to get out of here? One of your elements is Earth right?"

Spyro nodded. "Yeah, but it'd shake up the ground too much and give us away."

"Well, then what are we waiting for?!" Cylar yipped, jumping into the air with a twirl. "It's the old-fashion super stealth mode way! Follow me, everyone!" In a burst of energy, Cylar dropped to the ground like a small lizard and scurried out of the tent. Apparently he'd gained a sudden burst of confidence ever since he'd unleashed his element.

"_Cylar!" _Elora hissed, but to no avail. She looked back at the others with a fearful look, only to be met by shrugs and smirks. She sighed then nudged her head, signalling for the others to follow her, taking after Cylar. Elora took one last careful look around the entranceway, making sure no one was watching, then began to sneak away.

"Goodbye, Väktare," Elskaðir said over her shoulder just before slipping out. Väktare gave one noble bow in response before they vanished completely.

Spyro and Callum were left alone, at the back of the line. Just as Callum was about to slip out, Spyro grabbed him firmly on the shoulder and pulled him toward him. His paw was easily as big as Callum's head.

Spyro got frighteningly close to Callum's ear. "I just want you to know that we are _not _done. I _will not _let you escape this time. If you think just because you managed to break us all out of here you've suddenly gained my trust, then you're a fool, _Callum_." Spyro released his grip on Callum's shoulder, and the human stood there in silence for a moment without turning to face him.

"Well, Spyro, you're right about one thing," Callum finally spoke up. Spyro sneered, electricity zapping between his fangs.

Callum turned to him, having to look up slightly to meet Spyro's eyeline.

"We are _far _from done."

* * *

**Thank you, all, for checking out my story. This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write though my editor and I are pleased with how it turned out. If you are enjoying my story, you can let me know by hitting the FOLLOW and FAVORITE button. I encourage you to leave a comment as both positive feedback and constructive criticism are highly appreciated. Negativity will be disregarded and ignored. **

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


	9. Nine

**Bit of a longer wait on this chapter, but it's finally finished.**

**Let's get right to it. **

* * *

Taking his first few steps outside of their fabric prison gave Spyro his first look at the scattered layout of the opossum camp. Its size was overwhelming and far greater than he had originally imagined. Hundreds upon hundreds of tattered tents colored in dull browns and greens stretched across a vast and grassy landscape. A monstrous plume of smoke hovered in the night sky toward the center of the camp, likely where the big celebration was taking place. Luckily for them, most of the opossums would be convened there, allowing for an easier escape.

However, getting spotted wasn't their main concern, though it was obviously something to consider. The real issue was that they had spent the entire time trapped within an enclosed tent, so none of them were entirely familiar with the layout of the camp. The scarce moonlight provided minimal help, barely cutting through the thick darkness that hovered around them. Darkness only made the camp more of a maze and the outskirts were completely invisible, making it nearly impossible to spot any potential escape routes.

Finding a way out of the camp as quickly as possible was what Spyro's mind had immediately fixated upon, though at the same time he couldn't help but look up at the beautiful night sky he'd been deprived of for far too long. Compared to the last time he'd been a free dragon under the night sky, both moons were now at least partially visible. Adrano was a thicker crescent than she had been a couple nights ago, while Zella, in all her eerie greenness, decided to make an appearance as a much thinner crescent. Together, they cast a warm, greenish-yellow light across the campground.

The company tried to travel as stealthily as they could, doing their best to stay in close proximity. For obvious reasons, Spyro proved to be the biggest giveaway among them being as tall as a horse and more than twice as long with his tail and broad with his wings . Luckily for him, he'd been born with a scale color that could at least partially blend into the darkness, unlike Flame and Ember who were both basically walking lighthouses.

Callum led the way, venturing out on his own a short way to scout ahead; it was a prospect Spyro had been incredibly against, though they had no other choice. Elora walked beside Elskaðir with her arm over her, supporting the limping fox as well as she could. Elskaðir was in bad shape. Her leg demanded medical attention and the opossums clearly hadn't given it to her.

Spyro had thought it rude to inquire what had happened to her, though he had offered to carry her. Not particularly out of fashion, Elskaðir, as strong-willed as she was, had insisted upon limping through the pain. On top of this, she wanted to avoid putting any kind of strain on Spyro's shredded wing.

Cylar was the youngest among them which demanded he be ensured the most protection. Almost immediately after they'd exited the tent, Elskaðir had managed to call him back and keep him close to Spyro, figuring he'd be safest next to him. Callum certainly couldn't be trusted with protecting Cylar, though Spyro found it infuriating that they were trusting him to scout ahead of them. Spyro was too big to scout ahead without being seen, Elora had to stay with Elskaðir, and Cylar had to be kept in close proximity to Spyro. With everything taken into account, Callum was forced to be the leader whether anyone wanted him to or not.

They quickly developed a pattern: Callum would scout ahead, peaking around the corners of tents and down the pathways in between, then wave for them to get as close to him as they could when the coast was clear. As simple as it was, it seemed to be working thanks to the many shadows cast by the tents for the others to hide in while Callum continued to advance. However, there wasn't a moment that slipped by where Spyro wasn't watching the human like a hawk. Every step he took, Spyro imagined he was taking it right alongside him, predicting each and every moment Callum could potentially try to make a break for it.

Callum did quite well keeping to the shadows. His white tunic was the only thing that managed to stick out from the darkness, though it made it easier for Spyro to watch him. Just as he'd done before, Callum checked around all the tent corners ahead of them, then flagged them down with a wave of his hand.

"Come on," Spyro heard Elora whisper close by. Carefully, she hoisted Elskaðir up with her arm around her and guided her toward Callum's position, staying concealed as best they could. Once they hid again, Spyro came out of hiding with Cylar and crept alongside the tents and stands, checking around every corner himself, not trusting Callum's judgement for even a moment.

Finally, it was Spyro and Cylar's turn to advance. As quietly as they could, they crept toward the others, keeping under the cover of darkness. The most difficult part for Spyro was making sure not to tip anything over from his massive size. The camp clearly wasn't arranged in a way to make it spacious enough for a dragon to maneuver easily. The prison tent had been one of the largest areas by far, while many of the other tents looked to be residential. There were shop stands scattered everywhere as well: cheap, makeshift wooden vendor stands with various goods-that is, likely stolen goods-scattered across the top. Spyro couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of the opossums having vendor stands, being as they'd seem to have taken up a preference for live prisoners as their favorite stock.

They'd been repeating the same meticulous pattern for what felt like forever and they seemed to be getting nowhere. Once again, Elora and Elskaðir huddled together, this time behind an apple barrel, and Spyro advanced with Cylar. They hadn't been caught yet, though their lack of progress was beginning to frustrate Spyro, and he felt the need to confront Callum. Not only for the benefit of escaping alive, but also for the satisfying feeling he got from seeing Callum squirm under Spyro's superiority. Mason's bracelet had quickly become Spyro's favorite invention.

Spyro motioned for Cylar to stay back with his wing then crept up to Callum as he was checking around a tent corner. "You have no idea where you're going, do you?" Spyro taunted in a low voice.

Callum checked once more around the corner, then looked back at him with a fiery smirk. "Sure I do: we're going this way," he replied snarkily, pointing directly ahead of him.

A crackling burst of sparks shot from Spyro's nostrils as he snorted. "Callum, knock it off. We've got _lives_ on the line here."

The human glared back at Spyro fiercely. "_I'm working on it_. Now, shut up. Trying to listen here, Purp," he hissed. Spyro growled deeply in his throat.

Callum peered around the tent once more then sprinted across the way, darting toward the shadows to the other side of the pathway. He was headed toward a tent much larger than the ones they'd seen so far. Not as large as the prison tent, but big enough to be a noticeable difference. A sign was staked into the ground outside of it, though it was too dark to read under the faint moonlight.

Spyro expected Callum to dive into the shadows just as he had been doing, but this time he stopped in front of the larger tent for a moment. It was difficult to see him from where he was hiding, but Spyro caught a good enough glimpse of him to see him slip into the large tent. Spyro's eyes widened in alarm. This was outside their routine and immediately put Spyro on edge. Without looking around the corner first, Spyro sprinted after Callum, exposing himself on the pathway between the tents. The moonlight glinted off his purple scales. He thought he heard Elora whisper something to him, probably trying to get him to stop, but this was too important. Who knew what Callum could be up to?

He reached the other side of the path in an instant, luckily not catching the attention of any opossums. Without checking inside first, he barged through the tent flaps and found himself in a dimly lit, tightly cramped area.

He hadn't ever managed to catch what the sign outside had said, but by the looks of the inventory stocking the tent it wasn't difficult to figure out. A strong, freshly tanned smell of leather lingered heavily in the air. Boots, armor, belts, everything was leather and well organized within the store, though there was so much merchandise it still managed to look like a muddled mess.

Callum, who didn't seem to take any notice of Spyro's sudden entry, was inspecting a pair of leather boots and didn't lift his eyes to the purple dragon.

"What are you doing?" Spyro asked impatiently, stomping over to him. "We need to get out of here! This is no time for browsing!"

Callum looked up with raised eyebrows, completely unintimidated. "Listen, Purp, if you haven't noticed, I haven't had shoes for days. My feet are absolutely killing me, and we still have a lot of ground to cover. You want me to lead the way? Then I need to be able to lead without my ankles throbbing." Callum looked down at the merchandise again. "I'll be faster with these."

Icy mist began to emanate out of Spyro's mouth, covering his fangs in frost. Spyro marched up to Callum and shoved his good wing into him. Callum nearly fell off his feet, his back slamming into the display counter.

Spyro got right into his face. "First of all, _Callum_, you almost blew our cover. There could've been someone in here and it would have been _your fault _if we'd been recaptured."

The human rose to full height again, chuckling to himself. "First of all, _scalie_, you chose to follow me, so it would've been just as much your fault if we'd been caught. If you'd just waited over there for a second-"

"Callum, you _barged _into this tent!" Spyro growled. "How could you possibly have known it was going to be empty? You could've run face-first into someone. "

"Geez, do you think anything through?" Callum replied, exasperated. "This is a _leather shop_. Worker hears about some celebration going on involving the whole camp? After a day of working and inhaling leather smell into your lungs? Yeah, I'd be out of here in an instant too. No chance anyone was going to be in here."

"How _exactly_ did you know it was a leather shop?" Spyro asked, paws trembling in frustration. Callum's wits were really starting to get on his nerves.

Callum raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I read the sign when I was sprinting over here? And did you _not_ smell the leather staining the air around the entire tent?"

Spyro was about to retort when suddenly, he heard a gasp behind him. Both Callum and Spyro looked toward the entranceway to see an opossum staring at them in utter shock and looking ready to raise the alarm. Spyro's paws itched to explode into action. But, before he could, the sound of breaking glass chimed through the air, and the opossum's head was showered with sharp, clear fragments. A blank look crossed the opossum's face before he fell face first into the grass with a painful thump. Behind him appeared Elora, holding the neck of a now-broken wine bottle.

Elora threw the broken bottle to the side in a humph. "Are you two kidding me?! We need to _go_. What is going on in here?!" Spyro and Callum looked to each other in annoyance before both attempting to answer Elora. She put her hand up defiantly. "I don't have time for this. First of all, Spyro, you left Cylar by himself, so _I_ had to grab him before he ran after you. And, thanks to you two, I had to leave Elskaðir and Cylar alone so I could save your sorry tails-" A peculiar look crept across her face as she quickly inspected Callum. "Tail, and whatever you have." She rolled her eyes then left the tent without another word.

Spyro suddenly felt a blunt pain in his shoulder as Callum punched him hard. Spyro snorted, then pushed him harder, knocking him against a support beam. Anger etched through Callum's brows as he raised his fist for another blow.

"You _really _want to play this game?" Spyro said intimidatingly, puffing out his chest to showcase his size. Callum lowered his fist after a moment of hesitation.

"Go to hell, Spyro," Callum growled before turning his back and heading out of the tent.

In a blind rage, Spyro sneered then swiped his tail across the counter top, knocking the rest of the boots off that Callum hadn't taken. It was hatchling behavior, but _ancestors_ did Callum rub Spyro the wrong way.

Spyro felt a bit embarrassed by the childish mess he'd made of the shop and was glad no one was around to see him explode like that. With a huff, he headed toward the entranceway, being careful not to step on the unconscious opossum. A steady stream of blood trickled from the opossum's head from the glass Elora had broken across his skull. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious was difficult to tell, though it had to have been a pretty intense blow for the bottle to have shattered and him to have been knocked out in one hit. Spyro didn't envy him.

As he walked back outside, the chilly air hit him immediately, creeping between his scales. It was shocking how well those cheap tents managed to stay insulated. A noticeable odor lingered over the entire campground: smoke and alcohol, strong as the stench of blood. The opossums certainly weren't holding back their excitement. Spyro feared for the moment they found out their prisoners, especially their most valuable one, had managed to escape. He also feared for Väktare's life. Spyro didn't care how rich that dumb bear was. He was ignorant, and it was going to get him killed. But, there was nothing he could do about it at this point. Väktare had made his choice.

Spyro turned to see Elora walking with her arm around Elskaðir, limping across the pathway. Cylar ran beside them like a fluttering moth, scanning every inch of the perimeter intently. He may have been young, but he certainly had the kind of energy that would make him a fine warrior someday. The three of them quickly gathered close to Spyro, hiding within the shadows between the tents. Callum kept his distance from them, especially Spyro, while already peering out into another clearing.

"_Human_," Elskaðir hissed, making Callum jump. He looked at her, uninterested. "No more surprises, capiche? The goal is to get out of this place, not bunk up."

Callum groaned and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Yeah, got it, Foxie."

Elskaðir sneered at him as he turned his back. Spyro guessed she'd lash out if she wasn't confined to Elora's shoulder with a broken leg-a fight Callum would be bound to lose.

Callum took one more look in both directions then crept out into the clearing, stopping abruptly to investigate the ground. Spyro tilted his head in confusion.

"_Callum," _Spyro called, though to no avail. Callum stayed low to the ground, running his hands along the grass. Spyro seethed. "_Callum!" _he hissed, louder this time. The human turned his head, frustrated at the apparent intrusion. 'What are you doing?' Spyro mouthed.

Before Spyro had even finished mouthing the words, Callum returned to whatever he was doing. For someone who'd proven time and time again to be incredibly clever, Callum was acting like an utter fool. He was crouching low to the ground out in plain moonlight for any wandering eye to capture. Not wanting to lead his friends into any worse danger, Spyro motioned for them to stay behind and let Callum finish whatever he was doing. All they could do was watch and wonder.

Spyro couldn't shake the notion that Callum was constantly planning an escape route for himself to get away from Spyro. For all Spyro knew, that moment could be now, and he would be left in the dust while Callum slipped away once again. He decided that the moment Callum appeared to be making a break for it, Spyro would completely abandon all forms of stealth and chase him to the ends of the Earth if he had to. He hoped he wouldn't have to.

Callum stood up slowly, walking carefully across the grass, almost as if he was inspecting how his feet functioned. Spyro had seen Callum work through problems before and began to pick up on his mannerisms. When he was thinking with that genius brain of his, he seemed to drown out the rest of the world, mumbling to himself like he'd gone mad. He almost looked like a lunatic, inspecting the stars, the ground, the camp, then staring off into nothing, completely lost in thought. It was a miracle he hadn't been spotted yet.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Callum bolted back to the rest of the escape party.

"What exactly was that all about?! You could've blown our cover _again_, you idiot!" Elskaðir whispered, practically yelling in his face. Elora tried to shush her, reading Spyro's thoughts exactly.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you," Callum retorted cheekily. That earned a dangerous glare from Elskaðir, one most people wouldn't mess with. "I found carriage tracks out in that clearing and, judging by the footprints, it was a horse-drawn carriage."

"Okay? So?" Elskaðir replied impatiently, almost standing up on her own. "What's your point?"

"Well, if the tracks were leading this way," Callum pointed the direction opposite the one he'd been walking, "then-"

"Then the carriage probably entered the camp back the other way," Elora finished. "Alright. We follow the tracks opposite the way the horse was going, we get out of here."

"Right," Callum replied. "So, shall we?" He made eye contact with Spyro's hard violet gaze before immediately averting his eyes.

Just as they were about to begin following the tracks, a blaring sound exploded across the sky. The sound rang harshly within Spyro's skull, giving him a throbbing headache. It sounded like some kind of massive horn, like the one Cynder had blown in the catacombs so many years ago, only far louder.

Cylar dropped to the ground and covered his ears with both paws. "What is that?!" he cried.

"That's that _stupid _alarm they have!" Elskaðir yelled. "They've only rang it one other time while I've been here!"

"Well, what's the alert?!" Elora yelled, clasping a paw over her head.

Callum cussed. "They've probably figured out we got away!" The sound seemed to intensify, only adding to the urgency of the situation.

Spyro grabbed Cylar by the scruff of his neck and placed him onto his back. "Elskaðir, get on. This will turn into a massacre if we don't run _now!_"

A look of bewilderment etched across her face. "But...your wing? Won't it-?"

"There's no time for that!" he responded. Quickly, Spyro knelt down as low as he could to the ground. "Hop on," he insisted.

Elora immediately hoisted Elskaðir up a bit and hustled her over to Spyro. As carefully and quickly as she could, she helped Elskaðir climb onto his back, nestling herself behind Cylar who clung tightly to Spyro's neck. Once she was seated, Spyro stood tall with a bit of struggle, not used to carrying anyone on his back aside from the one time he'd carried Flame. Luckily, they were both much lighter than Flame and he couldn't fly even if he wanted to.

Spyro looked to Elora and Callum who awaited orders. "You two good to run?"

Elora nodded. "As good as I can be." Callum didn't even bother to respond, already turning away to scan the perimeter.

Spyro gave an energized nod. "Alright, follow me!" Spyro exploded into action, running as fast as he could and trying to ignore the added weight on his back. Not only that, but the added weight was sending sharp signals across his wounded wing, making him feel nauseous. But, he pressed on, traveling the opposite direction of the tracks like Callum had figured out.

_I guess we have him to thank for giving us a direction_, Spyro thought, before immediately shoving down any positive feeling he could have about Callum. Being forced to work together changed nothing. The moment they were free would be the moment Callum would become a prisoner once again.

The shadowy tents became a blur in Spyro's peripheral, and he felt the constant urge to check behind him to be sure Elora and Callum were still following closely. But, he realized that checking too much would only hinder his speed. Judging by the intensity of the blaring horn, who knew how much time they had? He couldn't risk slowing down.

Spyro was shocked that the horn hadn't ceased its daunting scream. It seemed almost illogical to keep it sounding, especially since it could easily deafen anyone too close to it. Whether it was a way to keep the opossum's motivation up or to intimidate enemies, the horn was certainly a bit overkill. Every time it sounded it made Spyro's heart jump. Although they were moving away from it, it seemed to be getting louder, only making Spyro's heart race faster. The horn sounded as if it was running after them itself.

They seemed to be running down an endless pathway. All the tents looked the same, there were no distinguishing marks, at least none that could be seen in the dark. There didn't appear to be any end to the camp in sight.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an opossum walked out into the pathway a short ways ahead of them. At the sight of the escaped prisoners, his eyes widened in alarm. Aside from the short sword he was holding, Spyro noticed he had a ram's horn tied to his belt which he quickly reached for with bony fingers.

Spyro quickly realized that the horn could cause them to be surrounded in a matter of seconds. Destroying it became a main priority. Spyro was just about to burst into action when Elora seemed to read his mind. Running at full speed, she charged at the opossum who was drawing the horn up to his mouth. The opossum jumped back in surprise at Elora's fearless advance, dropping the horn and reaching for his sword.

As Elora was nearly upon him, the opossum swung his sword at her head. Elora ducked out of the way and managed to pick up the opossum's horn off the ground. Before the opossum could throw another swing, Elora wielded the horn like a baton and bashed the opossum across the face ruthlessly. Elora struck with anger and speed comparable to the way Ember fought, though more refined. After a few massive blows to the head, the opossum flopped to the ground with a lifeless thump. Spyro had no idea if Elora had killed him or not.

Spyro and Callum caught up to Elora just as she threw the cracked horn to the ground. It had all happened so fast. Elora then stomped on the horn twice with her hoof, breaking it into two large pieces.

The company ran together again, following the same tracks that had sent them running in the first place. There was still no edge to the camp in sight, but Spyro began to notice that the spaces were getting wider between the tents, meaning they were leaving the center of camp. The weight on his back was starting to get him, and his wing was throbbing like mad. But, there was no use in complaining. It had been his choice to carry Elskaðir and Cylar and escape was mandatory, no matter the cost.

Scarcer and scarcer the tents became. Spyro wasn't entirely sure, but he guessed they'd been running for at least a mile. The camp was beginning to lighten up and Spyro could begin to see tentless, rolling fields of Avalar, shrouded in darkness, just across the horizon. Freedom seemed so close, captivity slipping away with every step. The pain in his wing was even dulled from the excitement building within him. Soon, the fowl camp would be naught but a memory.

It seemed they were just about to cross the finish line when Spyro heard a crash to his right. Turning quickly, he looked just in time to see Callum slam onto his back, having run full speed into four burly opossum soldiers.

The one Callum ran into stepped back in disgruntled pain, clasping his stomach from the force Callum had run into him with.

"There they are!" he hissed through a pained wince, pointing with a crooked finger.

"Exxecute them! But keep the human alive!" another yelled, raising his sword in a commanding fashion.

Callum scurried to his feet, ready to take down anyone who dared cross him. Elora made the first move, charging at the guard Callum had run into. Out of the other three, two charged at Spyro, while the last one thrust at Callum with his sword.

Spyro jumped into action, being sure to keep the two riders on his back safe. They were his main concern at the moment. The opossums swung their swords furiously, swinging at his limbs. It was difficult for him to fight back with his claws, as too much movement could throw Elskaðir and Cylar off his back. He relied heavily on his elements, which proved to be a challenge as well in such close quarters to his allies. One wrong shot could wound Elora or Callum. It was incredibly uncomfortable to think of Callum as an ally, but that's how fate had decided to turn things for the moment.

So far, the opossums had managed to dodge and block all of Spyro's elemental attacks with their shields. Even his flames and electricity seemed to bounce off the thick metal.

It didn't make sense. Flames and electricity both thrived in metal, so Spyro couldn't figure out why his elements weren't doing anything. It wasn't until he really began to study his opponent's equipment that he realized the straps on the shields were made of leather: perfect material for cutting off the flow of electricity and preventing their arms from being burned.

If Elskaðir and Cylar hadn't been on his back, it would've been an easy fight, but so far he couldn't get a jump on the opossums.

Luckily for him, Cylar quickly seemed to notice Spyro's struggle and decided to shoot tiny ice bolts from Spyro's back. They weren't much, certainly not enough to seriously hinder the opossums, but just enough to keep them distracted and give Spyro a few openings.

One of the opossums swatted with his shield at an ice bolt heading straight for his shoulder. Just as he did so, his torso became vulnerable and Spyro unleashed a focused beam of electricity right into his chest. The opossum was wearing chainmail armor, so the electricity quickly encapsulated his entire body, shocking him from head to paws.

His body began to smell of burnt hair and shook violently under the perilous electrocution. The light was so bright his comrade couldn't counterattack due to the blindness shrouding his vision. After a few seconds of lightning, the opossum fell lifelessly to the ground, spasming even after Spyro had ceased to hit him with his element. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Elora taking down her enemy as well, running him through with his own sword.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in fear. "Spyro! Watch your back!" Elora yelled, pointing to something behind him.

Before he could heed Elora's warning, he heard a yelp on his back as Elskaðir was slammed off of his back with the shield of the opossum Callum had been fighting. She let out an agonized scream as she landed on her broken leg. Spyro swung at the opossum with his tail, though the hairy creature managed to jump over it, giving him an opening to pounce onto Elskaðir. With his sword drawn, he ran toward her, ready to kill her instantly.

Elskaðir scooted back frantically, running her hands over the grass searching for something to fight back with, but her hands could only find grass. Spyro was just about to snap at the opossum when Elora suddenly appeared out of nowhere in front of Elskaðir, blocking the opossum's swing with the sword she'd stolen.

Now that the opossum was distracted by Elora, Spyro lunged from behind him and grabbed his neck in his jaws. The opossum screamed and his knees buckled from beneath him. Desperately he batted at Spyro's snout with his sword but couldn't get a good hit on him. Spyro thrashed his head violently, clamping his jaws down as hard as he could into the opossum's neck and shoulder. The opossum swung like an empty burlap sack, blood raining down all over the grass. In just a few seconds, all the life had been bled out of the opossum, and Spyro chucked him over his shoulder like a dead animal.

Fear blasted through the eyes of one of the remaining opossums and he threw his spear and shield to the ground in an instant, turning tail and running away screaming.

"Coward," Elora screamed at him.

Spyro spit the little bit of blood he had in his mouth into the grass and looked around to find Callum struggling to get up. The opossum he'd been fighting clearly took him down with ease.

Furious, Spyro stomped over to him. "You realize Elskaðir almost died because you couldn't take that guard down?!"

Callum finally rose to his feet, clasping his side. "If you'd take this damn bracelet off my ankle I could've killed him in two seconds!"

Spyro snorted. "What kind of idiot do you take me for, _Callum_?! You think I'd even think twice about taking that thing off you?!"

Callum laughed viciously. "You wanna know what I really think, _drak_?!"

"Give it your best shot, _skhint_!" Spyro roared.

"_Would you two shut it?!_" Elora screamed, helping Elskaðir to her feet. "Doesn't matter what happened anymore. Elskaðir is alive, and we need to leave _now_. You two can tear each other apart later."

"But-" Spyro argued.

"It wasn't even-" Callum said at the same time.

"_Enough!_" Elora hissed. They shut up instantly. "Spyro, _down_. You have to carry her out of here now that her leg is even worse."

"Yeah, thanks to-" Spyro muttered. Elora shot him a look which caused him to not dare finish his thought.

Elskaðir whined in pain far more than she had earlier. Her fall may have stolen her ability to walk properly for a year for all they knew. Spyro felt ashamed he'd allowed his anger over Callum to take him away from the urgency at hand. Elskaðir could barely even limp now, her leg giving out every time the tiniest bit of weight was put on it. Spyro knelt down the way he had before and Elora helped her onto his back once more, this time with more difficulty. Tears began to well up in Elskaðir's eyes as she continued to bump her leg against Spyro's side while trying to mount him.

The moment she was finally situated, Spyro hightailed it toward the edge of camp, keeping the rolling hills in his sights. He never once checked if Elora or Callum were still behind him. He never even checked his flanks, devoting his entire attention to shooting like an arrow through the camp. They needed to get out _now_. They didn't have time for another distraction.

Thankfully for them, no other distractions came, and the open plain quickly found its way under their feet, though they didn't stop there. They ran for miles, never looking back on the miserable camp. It may have been overkill, but Spyro didn't know how far he'd been from the opossum camp when he'd been captured. It was likely the opossums had scouts situated in a rather decent radius outside their camp. Running a few extra miles would give them a better chance of avoiding recapture.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of running, they dropped to an exhausted halt. Elora was hunched over herself, breathing heavily with her hands on her knees. Callum's legs gave out and he fell flat on his stomach, gasping heavily for breath and coughing manically. Spyro envied him. The purple dragon's legs were burning from the extra weight on his back. When it came to long-distance traveling, flying was a dragon's go-to means of transportation. Running for long periods of time certainly was something he'd have a hard time getting used to.

Spyro lowered himself delicately so Elskaðir could hobble off his back. Cautiously, she began to lower herself down to the ground, aiming with her good foot. Elora ran to her aid immediately before she could hurt herself any more, wrapping her arm around Elskaðir's shoulder and guiding her the whole way down. Cylar jumped off Spyro's back, showing no fatigue whatsoever.

"Well," Elora gasped between breaths after Elskaðir was safe on the ground, "what do we do now?"

Spyro slumped onto the ground with a thud, letting his head sink into the grass. "Let's just savor the moment for a second, yeah?" he wheezed.

Elora chuckled. "You dork," she muttered under her breath.

Spyro lay motionless in the grass, basking in the warmth of the freedom washing over him. Up above, the gentle light from Adrano and Zella glistened down on him, and he could hear the calls of crickets and frogs down by the distant streams. It was exactly what he'd needed for too long. He'd almost forgotten that Callum was laying just a tail's length away from him.

_Callum! _Spyro screamed in his head, sitting up with a start. Elora jumped back at his sudden burst of energy, giving him a confused look.

The human, the whole reason he'd left Cynder, was actually here with him now. It had been Callum's fault Spyro had left the comfort of his home and put his life in danger. No matter what anyone said, everything that had happened in the past few days was because of _him_. Now, as fate would have it, Callum had walked directly into his claws. Spyro finally had a chance to ensure Callum could never slip away again.

When Malefor's forces had released Spyro and Cynder from their crystal casing after three years, the first thing that had happened to them was having a mysterious chain bound between their necks, linking them together. Throughout the days they'd teamed up to take down Malefor, the mystery of that magic had appeared unsolvable to both the dragons and the moles. However, once the war ended, Spyro had hired Mason to dive into deeper research on ancient magic, going to any length necessary to figure out the enchantment that Malefor had used.

Whether anyone believed in him or not, Mason had managed to figure it out after two years of research. It was a concept no dragon had ever considered using, other than Malefor, and would also be a technique impossible for almost every dragon: combining your elements. The majority of dragons were born with only one element. But, in the case of the purple dragons and gifted dragons like Cynder, they were blessed with more than one element. However, when training these elements, dragons are taught how to use them one at a time, though Malefor seemed to be the first to discover a workaround.

During his time away from the company of the Guardians, Malefor had unlocked the secret to mixing elements, and it had quickly become a technique Spyro dove into in his own time, seeking to better his knowledge of his own abilities. Seeing the progress Spyro was making with his abilities even inspired Cynder to begin experimenting as well. She had gone from a formidable foe to an unstoppable war machine in just a few short years. Cynder had always been much more attuned to her elements, and the combination of these elements only solidified that notion.

The snake chain itself had been a simple trick: it was merely a mixture of electricity and earth manifested within two snake incarnations. However, Spyro had been practicing the same trick on his own and realized it was possible to create a chain without actually using any kind of physical bonding object. It was the whole reason Malefor had been able to disintegrate their chains at will. The snakes were merely a way of transporting the magic to Spyro and Cynder via the grublins, since Malefor hadn't gone with them that day.

Looking at Callum still trying to catch his breath on the ground, this was the perfect opportunity. Catch him off guard and there was no way Spyro could miss. Just as he had practiced over the years, Spyro began to build up the mixture of electricity and earth in his throat. It wasn't easy for him yet like it was for Cynder, so it required extreme concentration, though luckily out in the empty fields potential distractions were minimal.

_Focus, Spyro,_ he thought, concentrating hard on evenly dispersing the two elements within the energy building inside him. Greenish yellow light began to pulse from his jaws, catching Callum's attention.

"Spyro?" Elora asked, stepping back a bit. "What are you-?"

Before she could finish her question, and completely without warning, Spyro released the energy in his jaws, spreading an eerie mist hovering within the air around all of them. At first there was nothing, only the scattered twinkling of tiny bolts of electricity zapping through the misty green air. However, moments quickly rolled by until ever so slowly, a chain of electricity began to appear between Spyro and Callum.

Callum sat up with a start. "What the hell is this?!" he yelled, alarmed by the green electricity encircling his neck.

The same electricity crackled around Spyro's neck in the same fashion it had when he and Cynder had been bound together, only without the snakes. The chain was completely visible now. It had worked perfectly.

"That's to make sure you don't go anywhere," Spyro responded snarkily, snorting smoke out his nostrils.

Callum scrambled to his feet and went to tear at the chain connecting him to Spyro, though the second his hand touched the chain was the same second he tore it back. Spyro had added his own personal touch: Callum could not grab the chain without receiving a nasty shock.

Callum clasped his good hand tightly over the hand that had been shocked. He shook it out violently then stormed over to Spyro, trying to appear intimidating to the dragon who stood proudly above him at full height.

"_Take this off_," Callum demanded, giving Spyro a fierce glare. No one else knew what to say and didn't seem to want to intervene.

Spyro rose to his feet slowly and mightily, causing Callum to back up, intimidated. Puffing out his chest, Spyro showcased his superior strength.

"_You _are coming back to Warfang, and this chain is going to make sure you don't slip away again," Spyro responded confidently.

"Get your head down here and face me at _my_ eye level, you _snake_," Callum hissed. Spyro lowered his head a bit with an unimpressed smirk, waiting for the little creature to say whatever he had to say. Callum took a deep breath. "I _do not care_ about your personal resentment toward me, Purp. I _do not care _that I'm some 'valuable asset' to you and your scaly friends. There is _far more_ at stake here than you realize. I _will not _go back with you to that _filthy city_ you call home."

Spyro stared back at him for a moment, not saying anything. After the air settled a bit, Spyro lifted his head to full height once more.

"Try to keep up, Callum," Spyro retorted, unfazed by Callum's incessant barking. "I imagine it'd be quite painful to be dragged by your neck."

Callum appeared to be searching for words, though nothing could come out. Finally, he turned away, saying nothing in return, and walked as far from Spyro as he could. Unfortunately for him, it was only about a fully grown dragon's length away. As mysteriously as it had appeared, the chain faded to invisibility just as it had when Spyro and Cynder had been linked together.

Elora came up to Spyro and spoke in a low voice. "Do I even need to know what all that was about?"

"All you need to know is that he's coming _back_ to Warfang with me," Spyro replied, emphasizing the importance of the word.

Elora nodded. "Understood." She looked to Elskaðir who sat on the ground next to Cylar. Both of them didn't appear to know what to say in response to everything that had just occurred. Elora knelt down to her. "We need to get you to a healer. I can throw something together to numb the pain but that fall likely tore the tendons in your leg. That's beyond what I can do with alchemy." Elskaðir nodded drearily, wincing at the growing pain in her leg. That fall clearly had been just as bad as it had looked. "You okay to carry her?" Elora asked Spyro.

Spyro nodded. "Of course, but where should we go?" Spyro looked up at the stars. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure where we are."

"We did kinda run in a random direction," Elora replied with a chuckle. "Nearest village would probably be…" Elora looked up at the stars, holding her hand to the sky as a measuring tool. "...I think Pungdyr is in _that_ direction. Not sure how far though. Faunus knows where the opossums settled exactly."

Spyro's heart lightened at the mention of Pungdyr.

_Sheila! _Spyro shouted in his head. _Ancestors, it's been so long since I've seen her. _

Spyro nodded. "Let's just make sure not to cycle back into opossum territory."

"We'll take the long way if we have to," Elora responded, helping Elskaðir to her feet. Spyro dropped down as before so Elskaðir could set herself up on his back. Once she was situated, he took a moment to gather his bearings. Callum hadn't paid any notice to them, looking as if he was studying the stars as well.

Elora looked to Spyro, waiting for his command. Spyro took a deep breath then nodded, signaling for the party to follow.

"C'mon, Callum, don't make me drag you," Spyro called as they were already pulling ahead of him. As they continued to walk, the only thing Spyro could hear from him was the sound of Callum's angered muttering.

* * *

**Thank you for checking out my chapter, everyone. Any and all support is appreciated. If you are enjoying my story, be sure to hit the FAVORITE and FOLLOW button to let me know. Positive and constructive criticism is also appreciated in the comments as well, though negativity, especially during a time like this, will be ignored. **

**Praying you all are safe during this mess that's going on all over the world. **

**Bless,**

**Joshua**


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